


The Little Things

by StellaLuna365



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Flash Thompson is Compensating, Gen, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Peter and Ned are Friendship Goals, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, tell me I'm wrong, tony stark is a dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24954370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellaLuna365/pseuds/StellaLuna365
Summary: Peter has enough problems. As a teenage vigilante, they come with the territory. Add in the fact that he's Iron Man's only child and his family includes most of the world's superheroes? Yeah, he's had some ups and downs. Peter doesn't mind, though; he loves them anyway.After all, it's the little things that make a family.IronDad SpiderSon series! Unrelated chapters. Taking requests!
Relationships: Domestic Avengers - Relationship, Peter Parker & Everyone, Peter Parker & The Avengers, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 48
Kudos: 215





	1. Home Alone

“But Dad—”

“No.”

“But I really—”

“No, Peter.”

“ _Dad_ —”

“Zip it, squirt,” Tony said as he speed-walked down the hall to his board meeting, his phone pressed against his ear. “You know the rules. No patrolling when no one’s home.”

“That’s not fair, though,” Peter continued, and _damn_ Tony could feel the migraine building. “You and Pepper got called to emergency meetings and everybody got called on an emergency mission…people were _supposed_ to be here! I’d planned on patrolling ‘cause crime’s gotten a lot higher since it’s getting so hot—”

“Yeah, well, you’re gonna have another emergency to worry about if I catch your butt outside the tower before we get home,” Tony said with a hint of finality, hoping Peter would actually listen to him. God knew his hero complex rivaled Tony’s, sometimes. “Homework done, in bed by eleven. It’s a school night.”

“ _Daaaaaaaad_ ,” the fifteen-year-old whined, obviously unhappy with being kept in when he could be out gallivanting in his suit, hunting all the baddies who seemed to operate nocturnally.

Tony nearly skidded to a stop outside the conference room door, making eye-contact with Pepper through the glass window. She tapped her wrist behind the cover of the table impatiently, letting him know he was late.

“Yes, I know, I’m a horrible father and it’s my mission to make your life miserable, I kill puppies for fun, yada yada, bed by eleven. Love you! Watch him, FRI.”

Tony killed the call before Peter’s indignant shouting could filter through the speaker and sauntered into the room, ignoring the piercing stares at his tardiness. He took a seat by his wife, who gave him an exasperated look, and plonked his coffee cup down on the table in front of him.

Silence ensued as the Board members all gave him equally questioning looks, and he stared back with growing impatience. “Well?” He asked, glancing at the blank projector. “Who’re we waiting for? C’mon, people, chop chop! Time’s a’wasting.”

Tony heard more than one sigh of exasperation as the projector flickered to life.

…

Peter threw his phone on his bed in frustration, following it as he flopped down. His dad was being totally unfair. He was perfectly capable of going patrolling by himself for a while. He hadn’t needed backup in…what, a few months now?

He sighed, staring at his ceiling fan. The tower felt so lonely without anyone here. Well, there were a bunch of people here in the R&D department and the private hotel rooms on the middle floors and everything, but the top 5 floors reserved for his, his dad’s, and Pepper’s rooms as well as the Avengers’ rooms and common floor (and his dad’s lab) were eerily silent.

“FRIDAY?” He asked the AI, turning on the TV and putting it on a gameshow just to have some background noise. “If I go out for a little while, do you have to tell my dad?”

“Yes, Peter, I’m required to inform boss if you leave the premises,” FRIDAY replied sounding somewhat amused.

Peter huffed a breath, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Worth a shot,” he muttered.

He didn’t like being alone in the tower, and he’d much rather spend a night of solitude swinging through the streets of New York, taking in the lights and the sounds and the late-nighters bustling around. He’d like to save some people—he hadn’t gotten to patrol as much as he would’ve liked lately, and the guilt was starting to weigh on him. He knew he could sneak out, but his dad _would_ find out, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk not being able to patrol for two weeks.

His dad and Pepper had been called away to an emergency meeting for SI business—something about one of their clients throwing a temper tantrum over a faulty piece of machinery and threatening to withdraw any and all support from SI for the foreseeable future.

It would’ve been fine; the others Avengers—the ones who lived in the Tower, anyways (Steve, Bucky, Wanda, Vision, Natasha (sometimes), and Bruce) would probably be lounging around in the common room, and he could go hang out with them, but they’d been called away on a super-secret emergency mission halfway around the globe. He’d heard something about robots, but that was all.

Happy was away, too, not that he was usually in the Tower. And his Uncle Rhodey came by frequently—as often as he could—but he had a family thing going on tonight.

So, Peter was on his own.

His Spidey-Sense gave a gentle flare of unease, but he knew it was probably just because he was alone. He was so used to having someone with him, and he didn’t particularly like the knowledge that he was all by himself up here.

He sighed, picking up his chemistry textbook and flipping to that night’s assignment. He may as well get some homework done while he could, like his dad suggested.

Twenty minutes later, he was fast asleep.

…

Peter awoke suddenly to the sound of breaking glass.

He’d jolted into awareness, but he stayed very still, listening intently. Rooms away, probably in the living area, there was the unmistakable sound of boots crunching on broken glass. Faintly, he could hear a helicopter hovering just above the roof, but the sound became dim as it soared away.

There were people in the Tower.

His heart hammered in his chest as he slowly crept off the bed, sliding over to his window. His suit was in the lab—he and his dad had been working on it before he’d been called to his meeting. His web-shooters, too. He had his spares, but without his mask, he didn’t want to use them and risk giving away his identity.

He grabbed his phone and checked the time—he’d only slept for a couple of hours. No way anyone was back yet; it was only nine.

Silently sliding his window open, he thought furiously. He didn’t know if he could crawl down the building’s side without being spotted from either a lower floor or from another building. He knew it was dark, but there were so many huge screens and promotional spotlights every night, he didn’t know if he’d make it.

“FRIDAY?” He whispered, hoping the AI was watching. He didn’t get a reply. His hands shaking, he sucked in a breath and whispered a little louder, “FRIDAY?”

Nothing.

Either she wasn’t responding or she was down completely.

Who the hell was smart enough to get into his dad’s tech?

He listened for another moment, crossing the floor quickly to lock his bedroom door before they reached his room. They were still checking rooms individually. He didn’t know what they were looking for, and it scared him.

He was by himself.

With numb, shaking fingers, he called his dad.

The phone rang four times before his dad finally answered. “Pete, you know I’m in a meeting—”

“Someone’s here,” he whispered as loud as he dared, pressing his back against the far wall, by the window.

His dad’s breath caught before he immediately went into Iron Man mode. Peter could hear the suit building around him through the phone. “Who? How many?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, straining to hear the soft, trained pads of boots coming down the hallway. “Th-they broke the glass window in the living room on our floor. They’re checking all the rooms. Dad, I d-don’t have my suit…”

“I’m on my way,” he said quickly. “Stay on the phone, okay? I’m…shit, I’m too far out. Peter, can you get out?”

“Through the window,” he said quietly, his heart hammering in his chest. “N-not through the door. B-but…someone might see me, and I don’t know if I can crawl all the way down the building…”

“I’m coming,” his dad repeated, his voice as calm as he could make it. “Stay with me, buddy, I’m on my way, okay? Door locked?”

“Yes,” he breathed, listening once again to the footsteps. They were getting closer. “They’re coming, I think…Dad, what do I do?”

“Peter, if it comes down to it, crawl out the window and down the building, okay? If you can’t climb all the way down, get to another window that opens on another floor. You remember which ones, right?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied, looking frantically between the door and the window. He turned his back to the window, staring at the door in anticipation. “Dad—”

“Well. What’ve we got here?”

Peter heard the voice just as his Spider Sense gave a violent flare of warning. He whipped around just in time to see a masked form sending a fist towards his head, another one crawling in behind him. Peter dropped the phone, hearing his dad shout through the speaker, and dodged the fist, backing up to regroup.

They’d come in through the window…but the helicopter was gone, so how—

The man took the black mask off, revealing an amused smirk as he dropped it onto Peter’s floor. He held up his hands, and Peter noticed the odd metal bracelets encircling each wrist and ankle, housing extensions that rested on each palm. Glancing down, he saw similar extensions around the bases of their feet, which had retracted to hover just above the floor when they stood normally.

“See something you like?” The man asked as he manually deactivated the ones on his hands, his partner doing the same. “Looks like you’re not the only one with sticky fingers, kiddo.”

Peter’s eyes widened, his heart rate skyrocketing. These men knew who he was?

“Oh, yeah. We’ve been watching you and Daddy Stark for a while. Speaking of which, he’s still on the phone, right?” The man casually crouched to pick up the phone at his feet, and Peter saw his opportunity the moment the man’s eyes left him.

He sprung forward, barely giving himself a second to think about it, and felt his foot connect solidly with the man’s partner, who hadn’t even had time to move. The chatterbox guy turned sharply, his eyes following Peter’s every move as he came at him.

The man dodged Peter’s fist and returned with a sharp jab to Peter’s abdomen, which he just barely avoided. Peter twisted out of the way and was about to come back with a strike of his own when someone kicked down the door to his room. Peter, distracted, turned to look as four more goons piled into his room.

Chatterbox lashed out, then, catching Peter in the chin with a stunning uppercut. Despite Peter’s enhanced senses, and his augmented pain tolerance, he couldn’t quite catch himself as the vicious blow sent him reeling, his head smacking against the bed post as he went down.

The breath left his lungs as he dimly heard the four new guys surrounding him. He rolled over, panting through the pain, trying to clear his head. He blinked his fuzzy eyes, trying to clear his vision, too. He made it to all fours before he had to stop, his stomach threatening to revolt.

“There we go,” Chatterbox said, and Peter heard a rustle of fabric as he knelt to pick up his phone. “Stark? Oh, hey, glad you’re still on the line. Nah, he’s here.” A pause. “Oh, that’s pretty descriptive, dude, I’m glad you’re not on speaker.”

Peter sucked in another breath, falling back to sit on his heels, steadying himself with his hands on either side of him. He was definitely concussed. The scarce light in the room seemed like a spotlight shining directly into his eyes, and the room was tilting and swaying like a drunken funhouse.

“Daddy wants a word,” Chatterbox said, appearing in front of him seemingly out of thin air, shoving the phone against his ear.

Peter looked up blearily, his eyes barely focusing on the phone in front of him before he fumbled for it, blinking heavily. “Dad?”

“Peter,” the man breathed, obviously relieved. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

Peter swallowed thickly, closing his eyes against the spinning room. “Hit m’head,” he slurred. “Dizzy.”

“Shit,” his dad swore, the sounds of repulsors staticky through the line. “I’m coming, kiddo. I promise. I’m almost there, okay? I’m—”

The phone was plucked from his hand before he could say another word, but he couldn’t even register the event until Chatterbox was talking on the phone again. “—are a worrisome old man, aren’t you? I told you, he’s fine. Sure, he’s concussed, nothing a little sleep won’t fix. I’ll send you my account numbers. You send the money, we disappear, Peter stays here nice and safe. Oh, his identity? Well, come on, that’s valuable intel. You’re a businessman. I do what I have to to make a living, you see.”

Peter understood enough of that conversation for fear to fill his chest. Were they going to reveal his identity? Or worse, sell it to criminals, people he’d put away? He couldn’t put his family or his friends in danger. He couldn’t let that happen. He was Spider-Man, right? He had to do something.

Sucking in a breath, he tried to push himself to his feet, he barely struggled to his knees before there was a gun poking him in the back with just enough force to send him sprawling.

“Stay down, kiddo, the adults are talking,” Chatterbox said, barely sparing him a glance before he went back to talking to his dad.

Peter felt the rest of his body collapse in a heap as his stomach gave a violent spasm again. He was most definitely horribly concussed. He wanted his dad.

“Dad…” he said quietly, trying again to push himself up. Before anyone could kick him down again, though, the room exploded.

Well, not the room. The window definitely did. It collapsed inward, the glass shattering and the frame splintering as something flew in with all the force of a freight train, taking down four of the men surrounding him like bowling pins.

Peter, who’d (albeit sluggishly) covered his head, lifted his arms to see who’d come.

He expected his dad, but instead the face plate flipped up to reveal his Uncle Rhodey, surveying the scene with cold eyes.

Uncle Rhodey shot a repulsor blast at Chatterbox, but he dodged it and rolled towards Peter, grabbing his arm and hauling him upright. The blast went wide, clipping the other man, who went down with a grunt, lying motionless. Peter had no choice but to stand as Chatterbox yanked him up, the drastic change in position endangering the already precarious hold on his stomach.

“Stand down,” Chatterbox said, not sounding so casual anymore. He had an arm around Peter’s shoulders, now, and Peter felt the cold metal of a handgun press against his temple. The pressure on his aching head made him flinch away, but the fun just followed him.

“Let him go or I’m gonna toss you out this window,” Uncle Rhodey said, his faceplate flipping back up as he raised his repulsor beam. Peter regained enough presence of mind to raise his hands and tug at the arm around his shoulders, but it was hopelessly tight. Normally it would be no problem; it’d be like pushing off a pillow, but his concussion was messing with all his powers. His Spidey Sense was going haywire, and his senses were all out of whack. He felt off kilter and delirious.

“I’ll pass,” Chatterbox said, his earlier confidence returning. “Papa Stark and I have come to an arrangement.”

“Arrangement my ass,” Uncle Rhodey hissed, his repulsor whirring as he charged it up. “Let him _go_.”

Peter couldn’t stop the cry that left his lips when Chatterbox shoved the muzzle against his temple, harder this time, igniting the pain in his head again. “Let’s see who stands down first, man. I think you’ve got more reasons than I do to be careful.”

Peter absently saw Uncle Rhodey’s fists clench, but he kept the repulsor trained on them.

“I think I’ll up the price,” Chatterbox smirked, tightening his hold on Peter. Peter didn’t like being so close to the man. He didn’t like feeling so helpless, and he definitely didn’t like the gun against his head. “I’m a reasonable man. Let’s go…an extra two million? Compensation for all the men I’ve lost to this jack mission. What do you think?”

“I think you can take you extra two million and shove it up your ass.”

As soon as Peter had heard the voice behind him, Chatterbox had whipped around to see none other than Iron Man stalking menacingly throuogh the broken doorframe. Chatterbox had just enough time to utter a curse before Uncle Rhodey cracked him on the back of the head with his gauntleted hand, knocking the man out cold.

Peter and the gun both dropped to the ground, but his dad surged forward to catch him before he could fall. He wrapped his arms around his dad’s neck, uncomfortable metal suit and all, as soon as he could remember how to work his limbs.

“God, Rhodey, thank you,” his dad breathed, wrapping his arms around Peter’s back and just holding on for a minute. Uncle Rhodey might have replied, but Peter’s addled brain was too busy relishing the feeling of safety. His dad pulled back reluctantly, holding Peter steady as he swayed. “Peter? Look at me, bud. Eyes right here. You alright?”

Peter let the question settle for a few seconds before nodding unsteadily, his brain _not_ happy with that motion. “Head hurts.”

Tony let out a breath, worried eyes scanning his form before pulling Peter against him again. “I bet, kiddo. Let’s get you down to Medical, okay? Rhodey, can you clear this all up?”

“I gotcha,” Rhodey said, giving Peter’s arm an affectionate squeeze and smiling gently before turning back to the unconscious intruders, a scowl on his face. “I hate trash duty.”

His dad swept him up like a little kid as soon as Rhodey gave confirmation. Peter was about to protest, but he knew he probably wouldn’t be able to walk straight, anyways, and he was exhausted. “Dad?”

“Yeah, Pete?”

“He knows my identity. I—I th-think they all do.”

His dad nodded, his jaw set. “I’ll deal with it. I promise, it’s not going to get out.”

Peter hummed, resting his head on his dad’s metal shoulder, his eyes drooping shut.

“Nuh-uh, kiddo, up and at ‘em. No sleeping til we get your noggin looked at.”

Peter blinked his eyes open reluctantly, his stomach dropping a bit as the elevator took them down to the Medical floor. “Dad?”

“What’s up?”

Peter sucked on his bottom lip, his mushy brain spouting the first thing that came to mind. “I didn’t finish my homework.”

His dad barked a laugh, looking down with fond eyes and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll help you do it later.”

“Mm…okay,” he mumbled, settling into his dad’s arms with a sigh. He decided not to say “I told you so.” After all, if he’d been out patrolling, he wouldn’t have been ambushed in the tower.

An hour later, when he was finally allowed to fall asleep, he drifted off in his dad’s arms on the couch, feeling completely, totally safe.


	2. The Field Trip

Peter was royally, thoroughly screwed.

He’d been having a good day, too. He’d gotten an A on the physics test he was sure he’d bombed, so that was a nice surprise. And Spanish had actually gone much better than it usually did. Peter had finished his homework on time, too, so he actually got to eat lunch with Ned, MJ, and a couple others from Decathlon. He felt prepared for their next meet. All in all, his life was balancing well for once.

Mr. Harrington ruined it all.

“Guys, come on, settle down,” he yelled over the chattering students, pushing his hands down in an effort to quiet them. “I have an announcement! You’ll enjoy it, I promise.”

That got the students’ attention, and Peter turned away from his conversation with Ned towards the front of the room, where a relieved Mr. Harrington was making sure he had everyone’s attention.

“Okay, guys, I’ve got some really exciting news! We always take a field trip around this time of year, and we’ve got a really special trip planned.” He stopped, going for a dramatic pause that lasted a little too long; Peter felt himself getting antsy with anticipation, and he could see his classmates feeling the same. “How many of you think a visit to Avengers Tower would be interesting?”

At the same time his classmates started cheering around him, some of them even jumping out of their chairs, Peter’s heart dropped into his stomach.

He distantly felt Ned elbow him, his friend torn between his own barely containable excitement and his concern for Peter. “Are you gonna be okay, dude?”

Peter nodded absently, feeling his hands shake. “Yeah, I’ll—I’ll think of something. I may just call in sick that day or something.”

“Well,” Ned said, a grin splitting his face, “I’m sorry you’re gonna miss it, dude, but I’m so freaking excited!”

Peter smiled absently, but in the back of his mind, he was already planning the ways he could get out of going.

And yes, he thought resolutely. He was indeed screwed.

…

“I’m sick.”

Tony looked up as Peter stood in the doorway of the lab, leaning against the doorjamb. It was the night before the field trip, and Tony had an idea that his kid wasn’t too thrilled with the financial deal he’d cut with his principal to give the students free passes.

Tony scoffed. “No you’re not.”

“Yeah, I am. My temperature is a hundred degrees.”

Tony didn’t even look up. “Yep. That’s your normal temperature since the spider bite, kiddo.”

A pause. “My stomach hurts.”

“How much ice cream did you eat last night?”

“ _Dad_.”

“ _Peter_ ,” Tony said back in the same tone, smirking and looking up. “What’s wrong, kiddo? I thought you’d like to have your class come to the Tower.”

“Yeah, but they don’t know I’m your son,” Peter whined, finally walking inside and plopping down on the stool next to him. “They just know I’m your intern, and interns aren’t usually close with their bosses. And not even all of them believe about the internship, anyways.”

Tony frowned, looking up. “Are kids still bothering you about it?”

Peter blushed, looking down. “No.”

“Peter.” Tony sighed, leaning back. “Is it still that Francis kid?”

Peter’s lip twitched. Tony took it as a win; he knew that would get a smile. “It’s Flash. And it’s no big deal, I promise.”

“If someone’s bothering you, of course it’s a big deal,” Tony argued, pushing his own spinny stool beside Peter’s, pulling him against his side. “If you don’t want to go because you’re afraid they’ll tease you about it, I can take care of it.”

“No, you can’t,” Peter argued, looking miserable. “They don’t know you’re my dad, remember?”

“Yeah. But who said a boss can’t stand up for his intern? His favorite intern, personal Avengers intern, best Frappuccino maker in the Tower…”

Peter quirked a smile, but shook his head. “It’s okay. You’ll just embarrass me.” At the mention of embarrassment, his eyes went wide, and he looked at Tony with real fear. “You didn’t tell the team, did you?”

Tony laughed, throwing his head back. “Nope.”

Peter’s shoulders sank in relief. “Thank you. No, I’ll be fine, I’ll stick with Ned. Just… _please_ don’t do anything weird, okay?”

Tony smiled, ruffling his son’s curly hair and shoving him away, sending him laughing and spinning on his stool towards the door. “I’ll do my best, but no promises.”

Peter huffed. He figured that was all he would get, anyways.

Tony didn’t mention that he planned on telling the team that night. Hey, he’d told the truth—he hadn’t told them _yet_.

…

“So you’re going?” Ned asked that morning as they loaded up the bus.

Peter found it ridiculous that he had to make Happy drive him to school only to turn around and come back on the bus, but he couldn’t very well argue that he lived there. Maybe he could convince Mr. Harrington that he had internship stuff to do, have Pepper sign a form or something, and stay behind after everyone left.

“Yeah,” he said, plopping down in the window seat. “My dad said it would be fine, but I don’t know if he’s got something weird planned or not.”

“I will never get used to hearing you call Tony Stark your dad.”

“Dude, keep your voice down!” Peter yelled/whispered, glancing around nervously. “The whole bus doesn’t need to know! And you’ve met him, like, ten times now. You should be used to him.”

Ned smiled sheepishly, looking properly chagrinned. “He’s Tony Stark, man. I’m _never_ going to be used to him.”

The rest of the bus ride was uneventful, save for the four wadded up pieces of paper that smacked into the back of his head. Peter didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

“Yo, Penis!” Flash called from the back when he saw Mr. Harrington take a phone call. “You sure you wanna come? Wouldn’t want you to get called out on your fake internship, or anything.”

Peter didn’t even dignify that with a response. Ned called, “Back off, Flash! At least he _has_ an internship.”

Peter smirked at his friend when he heard a couple kids laugh at Ned’s remark. Flash went red in the face and sat back down, yelling, “Just wait, Parker! You’re screwed when we get there.”

Peter sighed. Yeah, he’d already figured that out.

…

Peter hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder as they filed off the bus, glancing up at the Tower he came home to every night. He knew every inch of his place; he wondered what his dad had been thinking, offering to host his school on a field trip.

An intern—an actual intern, Hannah—was waiting out front for them with a clipboard. She gave a thousand-watt smile, gesturing for them to follow her. “Hey, Midtown! My name’s Hannah; I’ll be your tour guide today. If you’ll follow me inside, we’ll start getting everyone some identification to wear around the building.”

Peter filed in with his classmates, trying to hide himself among the swarm of his peers, ducking his head.

Something jostled into him from behind; knowing a normal kid his size would’ve stumbled, he did, pretending to trip forward a couple steps before righting himself, mumbling an apology to the guy he’d bumped into.

“Security’s pretty tight in the Tower, for obvious reasons—there’s a lot of dangerous technology and information that needs to stay protected and safe from people who don’t know how to use it _and_ people who could use it for the wrong reasons. Additionally, a lot of Avengers live in the upper floors of the Tower, so we try to protect their privacy as much as possible. Your passes will give you access to specific floors that I’ll take you to—you all have Level 2 clearance, which means you’ll have to stay with me at all times. All interns have Level 4 clearance—” she held up her own badge, “—so we can go to our designated areas unescorted. Any questions?” A pause. “Okay, line up single file and I’ll start handing out badges.”

Peter waited in line in front of Ned, listening to him chatter on excitedly about seeing the R&D levels of the Tower and listening to the history of Stark Industries and everything. Peter knew everything already, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the least bit interested in taking the tour.

“Okay, here’s—hey, Peter!” Hannah said in surprise as she looked up, smiling. “Is this your class?”

Peter nodded, ducking his head just a little when he felt the eyes of his classmates on him. “Yeah.”

“You should’ve told me sooner, I would’ve asked to get you guys into some of the cooler levels,” Hannah said, smiling. Peter really liked Hannah. She was a junior at NYU majoring in Aerospace Engineering, working part-time in addition to her internship, and she maintained a 4.0 GPA. She was also in a couple clubs and organizations, and she was consistently kind to everyone. The first day of his “internship,” she’d made an effort to talk to him and make him feel welcome. “Do you have your own badge?”

“Yeah, I brought it.” He flashed it at her, smiling. His dad had been worried about the other interns questioning why his access level was so high, so the outer design—colors and configuration and everything—matched a Level 4 pass, but the microchip inside gave him All-Access with his dad and Pepper.

“Cool, then just wait there with everybody else. You can help me answer questions or something, impress your classmates a little?” She whispered that last part, smiling suggestively.

Peter snorted, stepping to the side. “It’s all good. I’ve actually never taken the tour, so I’ll be listening, too. Besides, you’ve got this.”

She gave him a smile, then continued passing out badges.

Ned gawked at him after taking his own badge, staring at Hannah. “Dude, do you _know_ her?” At Peter’s nod, he looked over and said, “Could you, like…introduce me?”

Peter snorted into his hand at Ned’s incredulous look. “C’mon, dude! Be a wingman!”

“She’s twenty-one, Ned,” Peter laughed, elbowing his friend in the arm. “And totally out of your league.”

“Well, _yeah_ , obviously, but if you introduce me—”

Ned kept chattering on excitedly, but Peter’s Spider-Sense gave a subtle buzz in the base of his skull. He turned a little, trying to see if anyone was causing a scene, trying to pinpoint the danger, but he caught Flash’s eye, instead.

Abe was trying to talk to him about something, but Flash seemed intent on burning a hole in Peter’s head with his gaze.

Peter sighed.

The actual field trip started a couple of minutes later, with a tour of the lobby and a couple of the high-tech security systems, as well as an introduction to FRIDAY. They piled into the elevator in groups, starting on the seventh level—basic R&D for the medical branch of Stark Industries.

Peter admitted, it was a lot cooler than he thought it would be. He asked his dad about developments all the time, curious about what they built and how it all worked, but getting a tour of the magic as it happened was actually really excited. Ned was flipping out beside him, which augmented the whole experience, but Peter enjoyed it.

He wondered if his dad knew how much he’d enjoy it, and planned it for him.

Granted, the man probably could’ve just given him his own tour, but that would’ve raised a lot of questions among the employees and the interns, so this was his dad’s way of letting him see what everyone else saw. His way of making sure Peter could see everything he wanted, even if he couldn’t be there with him.

Peter smiled.

He had the literal best dad.

“What the hell’s so funny, Penis?”

Peter tensed at Flash’s voice just behind him. The others were chattering excitedly around him, so neither Hannah nor Mr. Harrington heard them.

“Lay off, Flash,” Ned said, face pinched in annoyance. “You always say you’re gonna intern here one day, so why not pay attention to the tour?”

Flash scoffed. “Don’t need to. This is all basic stuff, anyways.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. Right. Like creating drones to carry vaccinations to third-world countries or synthetic pancreases for diabetes patients or thought-projection technology for ASL patients was basic.

“Got something to say, Penis?” Flash asked, taking a step forward so he was in Peter’s personal space. Peter didn’t step back. He may not let himself fight back, but that didn’t mean he was going to roll over and take it.

Peter shook his head. “No. You’ve said enough for the both of us.”

Flash’s neck turned red. As he was about to respond, the kids around them broke out into shouts of excitement and awe, everyone’s camera out and flashing as soon as they could get their hands to work. Peter turned to see what all the racket was, and his stomach dropped.

Oh, he was gonna kill his dad.

Standing in the doorway was Steve, Bucky, Bruce, and Natasha, all decked out in their Avengers gear.

“Oh, hey, didn’t know the tour was coming this way,” Steve said with a bright smile, completely unconvincingly. “This is Peter’s class, right?”

Peter ducked. He scooted behind Ned and waited. Ned may as well have melted on the spot as Natasha strolled up to him, wading through the gawking teenagers with all her usual grace.

“Hm. I just saw him—” Nat’s voice reached his ears, and he sighed, standing to his full height. She met his eyes and smirked. “There he is. Hiding from us, Pete?”

Peter smiled thinly, feeling the eyes of his classmates on him _yet_ again, and gave Nat his mandatory hug. “Hey, Nat. No. Just…delaying the inevitable.” He whispered that last part.

She ruffled his hair, smiling fondly. “Afraid we’d embarrass you?”

She didn’t whisper.

“Hey, Peter!” Bruce said, following the wake Nat had left behind, clapping him on the shoulder. He was smiling, too, but he looked nervous. Peter knew he probably didn’t like being around so many kids—they weren’t too good for anxiety, after all. “You’re coming by later to help me work on some stuff, right?”

“Right,” Peter said through a clenched smile.

He was gonna kill them all.

“Um, I think Hannah kind of wants to finish the tour—” he said quietly, nodding in her direction. Steve and Bucky were busy entertaining questions from the kids who _weren’t_ staring at Peter like he had two heads.

“Oh, Tony didn’t tell you?” Steve asked over the heads of the swarm of kids surrounding him. “Mandatory Avengers training exercise. Your class was invited to watch. Is that okay…Hannah, right?”

God bless Hannah, she looked like she was about to have an aneurysm.

“Yes, that’s— _perfectly_ f-fine, Mr…Rogers, uh, Captain America.”

Bucky snorted. Steve blushed, continuing, “Uh, just…Steve. Please.”

Hannah nodded, looking close to fainting.

“Okay, kiddos.” Nat smirked, nodding to the elevator. “Ready to see something fun?”

Peter thought he might have lost his hearing, his classmates cheer was so loud.

…

“Peter!” His dad shouted as soon as his class bustled into the training room, beelining to him and slinging an arm around his shoulders. “How’s my favorite intern?”

Every other Avenger was in the room; Nat, Steve, Bucky, and Bruce all went to join the others, who sent him waves or grins. Damn, his dad had really pulled out all the stops. Even Clint had traveled in from his farm.

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but his dad steamrolled over his response. “Actually, I know you’re good, I need you over here. Harrison? Hammerton? _Harrington_! Sorry, my bad. Stealing my intern for a minute!”

Mr. Harrington couldn’t even reply before Peter was whisked away.

“So? Tour’s good, yeah? You having fun?”

His dad’s excitement was contagious, and Peter couldn’t contain a smile. “Yeah, it’s—it was really cool, Dad. But you said you didn’t tell the team!”

“I hadn’t when you asked me,” his dad smirked, pulling him in for a hug. “I know you’re probably annoyed, but I don’t get to show off my kid very often. I can at least show off my intern, huh?”

Peter sighed, giving in and returning the hug. “Yeah. But you could’ve warned me.”

His dad chuckled, ruffling his hair. “That’s no fun. C’mon, let’s head back.”

No one noticed Tony and Peter walking back in, for which he was grateful. He didn’t like all the attention.

Okay, maybe a _little_ bit. It felt good to at least convince his classmates that his “internship” was—at least, sort of—real. But he didn’t like all the attention he was getting. He had limits.

He rejoined Ned, who looked like he was about to have an aneurysm, as well. “Dude. You realize when we get back to school, our cool-meter’s going to _skyrocket_.”

“And then you’re going to ruin it by saying things like ‘cool-meter,’” Peter joked, grinning at his friend. “Nah, it’ll blow over. Flash’ll come up with something else to say, and it’ll become irrelevant.”

“Dude, we’re having fun. Don’t let that asshole ruin it.”

Peter smiled. Ned always knew what to say. “Yeah, you’re right, man.”

It was actually kind of fun watching the Avengers kick the crap out of each other knowing he wasn’t expected to join in at some point. Nat took Clint down in less than a minute (expected) but then Steve got lucky and pinned her, so he and Bucky went at it. _That_ was always fun to watch.

Bucky won that round, and he was grinning predatorially at Sam, who stared at the ceiling and shook his head. “C’mon, Grandpa,” he said, walking into the circle and bouncing on his feet. “C’mon, come at me! Yeah, that’s right.”

Bucky just raised an eyebrow before lunging.

Sam was holding his own pretty well, but Peter was busy regretting the water bottle he’d chugged an hour ago. He bumped Ned’s shoulder, whispering, “I’m gonna head to the bathroom if anyone asks where I am, okay?”

Ned nodded distractedly, which Peter took as confirmation, and headed out the doors, slipping down the hall. His Sidey-Sense flared, but just a little; he turned to glance behind him, but there was no one.

He went to the bathroom and set his backpack by the sink, washing his hands. The door opened. He glanced over, expecting to see an employee or an intern.

He wasn’t expecting to see Flash Thompson.

He was standing there as the door swung shut behind him, looking downright _pissed_.

“What the hell?” Flash growled, stalking up to him. Despite himself, Peter took a step backwards; he didn’t think he’d ever seen Flash this mad. Sure, he was usually being snarky and sarcastic, sometimes just _cruel_ , but he was never really _angry_. “What the actual _hell_ , Peter? How come they all know you so well?”

Peter held up his hands placatingly, trying to diffuse the growing tension. “Flash—c’mon, calm down—”

“How’d you do it, huh? It’s not like you have enough money to bribe Tony Stark, so how the hell’d you get this position? You’re not that smart! You’re not talented, you don’t have connections, so what the _hell_?”

Peter would lie if he said the words didn’t sting, despite knowing that none of them were true. Actually, one was really wrong—he _did_ have connections. His dad was Tony Stark. But it wasn’t like he could say that, so how could he deal with this?

Flash scoffed. “You’re probably a charity case, am I right?” Peter flinched, and Flash grinned. “I _am_! God, that’s really pathetic, dude. Tony Stark takes in an untalented, stupid dumbass like you. Bet it helped his media image, right?

Peter knew it wasn’t true, but he couldn’t forgive the jab at his dad. Fisting his hands at his sides, he spat, “You’re just jealous because they won’t hire you, Flash. They look for people with real talent who aren’t _assholes_ like you.”

A couple things happened at once.

For one thing, Peter was surprised at himself. Part of promising himself he wouldn’t retaliate had been insulting Flash back, but— _damn_ , it felt good.

The fist that hit him in the mouth didn’t.

That was the second thing to happen—Flash had hauled off and punched him hard enough to knock him down. Peter could’ve stayed standing—definitely could’ve—but for one thing, he was surprised Flash had actually punched him. He’d thrown paper at him, tripped him a couple times, sometimes even shoved him, but he’d never actually gotten physical.

The third thing that happened—the worst, and best—is that the door opened, and Tony Stark walked through just in time to see the punch.

Peter felt himself hit the ground, instinctively swiping at his lip to see his fingers come away bloody. He looked up at Flash, who’d turned around. His face was white.

Peter looked past him, and—

Oh, _shit_.

“Does somebody want to explain,” his dad said, his expression cold and hard, his voice deceptively calm, “what the _hell_ I just saw?”

Peter was quick to stand up, steadying himself on the sink. “D—Mr. Stark! Uh…I…”

“That was rhetorical,” he bit out, ignoring Peter in favor of stalking up to Flash. “Explain. _Now_.”

Peter glanced at Flash, who was cowering like a chihuahua in front of a bulldog. There wasn’t much of a height difference, but for some reason, his dad seemed to dwarf Flash entirely.

“I…” Flash started, his voice shaking. “I didn’t…I-I…”

“Out,” his dad growled, pointing at the door. Flash bolted.

As soon as the door had swung shut, his dad jerked Peter towards him, taking his chin and scanning him for other injuries. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Peter gently pried his hands off, gripping the sink. “I’m fine, Dad, it’s just my lip. I promise.”

“Don’t lie to me,” his dad said, eyes hardening. “I know you can block one punch, Peter.”

“I know, but—” Peter exhaled slowly, his eyes downcast. “It—I wasn’t expecting it. He’s never…” He took a deep breath. “He’s never hit me before. It was always just…words.”

His dad’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of words? Actually, don’t answer that. We’ll talk about it later. I’m going to get Bruce, and then I’m gonna talk to your teacher.”

“Dad, _no_ ,” Peter said quickly, grabbing the man’s arm. “You can’t—!”

“The hell I can’t, Peter!” His dad said angrily, quickly sighing and running a hand through his hair. “You’re bleeding. A kid _hit_ you. I don’t care if you’re my son, my intern, or just another kid on a field trip in my tower, I’m telling your teacher, because disciplinary action needs to be taken. That kid doesn’t have the right to take out his insecurities or his anger on you, no matter who you are, understand me?”

Peter clamped his mouth shut, lowering his eyes and nodding. There was no arguing with his dad when he was like this.

His dad sighed, taking a deep breath and dragging a hand down his face before snatching a paper towel. He ran it under the faucet and gently touched it to Peter’s lip. Peter winced, shrinking back before he adjusted to the sting. “Sorry,” his dad whispered, cupping the back of his neck to keep his bed still. “How long will this take to heal?”

“Not long,” Peter said around the paper towel. “Maybe a couple hours.”

His dad sighed. “Yeah, you’ll have to camp out upstairs so people don’t notice. Can you get up there by yourself?”

Peter nodded, reaching down to grab his backpack. “Sorry.”

“For what, kiddo?”

Peter shrank. “Causing such a mess.”

His dad shook his head, smiling ruefully. “Nothing to be sorry for. It’s that asshole kid’s fault, anyways.”

“Dad.”

“What? I’m not wrong.”

Peter had to smile, even though it stung.

…

Peter was in the living room watching a movie, curled up under a blanket. Steve was sitting on the other end with Peter’s feet in his lap; Sam, Nat, and Clint were sprawled out in the recliners. They’d been a little…upset.

Nat had given a cold smile and said, “Who wants to hold him down while I castrate him?”

Peter had been quick to talk that down, and was frankly unnerved by the number of volunteers.

Mr. Harrington had been overly apologetic, tripping over himself in an attempt to diffuse the situation, Flash cowering on the side. Flash had tried to apologize, but he was stuttering too much to form a coherent sentence.

Peter had to laugh a little at that image.

“Peter,” his dad said from the doorway. “Can you come here for a sec?”

Steve squeezed his foot as he got up, traipsing to the kitchen, the blanket still around his shoulders. “Yeah?”

“Pop a squat,” his dad said, sitting down on one of the barstools.

“No one says that.”

“Sure they do. Sit.”

Peter did with a huff, the soft blanket making him sleepy. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, but I said we’d talk later.” His dad said, leaning forward. “What was that kid saying to you?”

Peter stiffened, looking down. “Nothing. It’s stupid.”

“It’s definitely not,” his dad said, tilting his head up with a finger hooked under his chin. “If it hurt you, it’s not nothing.”

“It’s stupid, though.”

“Peter, come on. You know you can tell me anything.”

Peter sighed, looking away. He tightened the blanket around his shoulders. “I…he was asking what I did to get you to hire me. Said I was…stupid and untalented, so he didn’t get it, and then he said I must’ve been a…charity case.” Peter inhaled slowly, not meeting his dad’s eyes. “I…that’s not true, right?”

“Peter. Look at me.” Peter slowly raised his eyes. “Nothing has ever been further from the truth. Did you really believe him? He just said it to hurt you, Pete.”

“I know,” he replied instantly. “I know that it’s not that way now. I promise. But…was it? At the beginning?” Peter worried his bottom lip, which had almost fully healed. “I…my mom…you didn’t know about me til I was…what, six? When she died?” Peter took a shaky breath. “Was it just…obligation? Did you feel sorry for me then?”

Peter didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see the answer.

His dad let out a miserable breath. “No. I saw you and…” Tony laughed quietly, running a hand through his hair. “My world stopped. Everything stopped, Peter. I saw you with your aunt, and you were…perfect. I saw you and I knew. Even before anyone told me, before anyone introduced you to me…I knew I never wanted to let you out of my sight ever again. I knew that I loved you more than I thought I could ever love someone.” Tony ducked his head down, touching his forehead to Peter’s, cupping the back of his neck. “You were never, _ever_ , a charity case.”

Peter couldn’t stop the tears that gathered, smiling wetly. “Thanks, Dad.”

His dad hugged him tightly, blanket and all. “Ice cream. Pick a flavor.”

Peter laughed, resting his head on his dad’s shoulder and closing his eyes. “In a minute?”

“Sure,” his dad said, chuckling fondly as he carded his fingers through Peter’s hair. “Whatever you want.”

Peter smiled.


	3. Welcome to the Family

Peter didn’t think he’d ever been so scared.

He sat, alone in the Tower with no one but Jarvis for company, listening to it rumble and shake. He was eleven, too big for it, but he held his favorite stuffed toy from his dad—a big stuffed elephant with an Iron Man repulsor on each foot—tight against his chest as he huddled in the bottom of his closet.

He had his StarkPhone and was watching the footage of his dad fighting the Chutari with wide eyes.

“Jarvis,” he said shakily, “I know you’re—you’re helping Dad right now, but…but he’s okay, right? He’s—not hurt?”

“No, Peter,” Jarvis replied instantly, and Peter shook in relief. “He has a few minor injuries, but nothing that cannot be fixed with simple first aid.”

Peter deflated, sobbing into the elephant.

The Tower gave another big shake, and he huddled into a tighter ball. “I want my dad.”

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Jarvis said soothingly. “Sir is currently occupied.”

“No, I know,” Peter said quickly, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry. I know he’s—fighting, I just—” Peter took a shaky breath. “I’m scared, even though I shouldn’t be. I’m too big to be scared.”

Peter imagined, if Jarvis could have, he would have smiled. “You’re never too old to be scared, Peter.”

Peter did smile. “Thanks, Jarvis. Take care of my dad, okay?”

“Always, young sir.”

Peter winced as he watched his dad take a particularly hard hit, but he was up and firing just a second after, so he felt okay.

He sighed, settling into the dark corner of the closet and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.

When this was over, his dad owed him so much ice cream.

…

Loki was curious.

He’d always been a mischievous child, and that temperament was always accompanied by a generous side of curiosity. However, this was borderline perplexing, and he did not appreciate being perplexed.

Stark was a thorn in his side, no doubt, doing his fair share of damage to Loki’s army, but his movements were…odd.

The other five members of his little group were on the streets or in the skies (his pig-headed brother holding that honor), attacking his army with all they were worth, but Stark had hardly moved from his Tower. The man looked like he was defending more than attacking.

Loki was perplexed by this.

The man was a certified narcissist—more so than Loki himself, and that was quite the feat—but still, Loki had seen the man’s intentions, knew his heart. He didn’t think he’d be so shallow as to protect his building while his city was being leveled.

Loki smiled. Perhaps he should pay a visit to this Tower, see what Stark was so hellbent on protecting.

Perhaps he’d finally find the chink in Iron Man’s armor.

…

“I could use some help on 49th, Stark,” Steve bit into the comms. Stark heard the dull clang of his shield following the remark. “The damn things just keep coming.”

“Oh, someone needs to wash his mouth out with soap,” Clint said, the twang of his arrow loud in Tony’s ear. All the background noises were killing his concentration.

“Busy, Cap,” Tony said, blasting one of the big flying lizard things right between the eyes.

Tony couldn’t leave the Tower unprotected—this had been a surprise, and he hadn’t had time to get Peter to safety.

He couldn’t let anything get near his son, but he couldn’t very well tell the rest of his team that, either. After all, Peter was a well-kept secret that he had no intention of letting out anytime soon.

His safety came first.

“Doing what?” Romanov grumbled. “’Cause we’re working our asses off here, Stark, and you don’t seem to be moving very far from your Tower.”

Tony scoffed. Damn, that woman was observant.

Suddenly, Jarvis’ voice crackled to life in his ear. “Sir, the Tower has been breached.”

“ _What_?” Tony asked, disregarding the fact that his team could probably hear him. “By what? When?”

“I believe it’s Loki, sir,” Jarvis said quickly. “Peter is—”

“I’m on my way,” Tony cut him off, his stomach twisting. “Guys, I have a situation; I have a lead on Loki, okay? Hold down the fort; he’s at the Tower. Someone get in touch with Point Break, let him know.” The damn god’s comm had been fried by his lightning trick.

“Be careful, Stark,” Steve said, genuine concern in his voice. “We’ll back you up as soon as this is contained.”

Tony wasn’t even listening.

He had to get to his kid.

…

Peter heard a thump.

That wasn’t unusual, seeing as he was pretty sure the building was all but coming down, but it was…inside. Close.

That was unusual.

“Jarvis?” He asked quietly, uncertainly. “What’s—?”

“Quiet, young sir,” Jarvis said in a low voice, his voice barely audible over the speakers. “I’m alerting sir now.”

Peter swallowed thickly, putting down his StarkPhone and turning it off. He didn’t want anyone to see the light under the door, or hear the speakers.

Was it one of the aliens? Were they inside? Peter held the elephant tight, his hands shaking.

He froze at the sound of footsteps and the telltale creak of his bedroom door opening.

“Hm,” a voice said outside, and Peter stopped breathing. “Not quite the bedroom I’d imagined for a billionaire.”

Peter’s eyes went wide.

“Never pegged him to have a room so…messy,” the voice continued, the British accent patronizing and cold. “So young.”

Peter shook on the floor of his closet. He could see the shadow of the man moving around outside, around his room, through the crack under the door.

“Or perhaps…it’s someone else’s?” Peter heard the man’s voice change as he turned around, the sound dulling as it ricocheted off the opposing wall. “Maybe…the room of a child, hm?”

The footsteps stopped, and Peter didn’t breathe, because they were right there.

Right outside his door.

Peter’s eyes widened further and he stared up, frozen, as the door handle creaked, the door swinging open. A tall man, with jet black hair slicked away from his forehead and a horned crown, stood, dressed in green and black robes that fell to his ankles. The man smiled down on him, but his eyes were cold.

Peter took a shaky breath.

“I believe I’ve won our game of hide and seek,” the man said, the cold smile stretching further. “But playtime’s over, little one.”

…

Tony’s heart dropped.

He walked slowly along the extended balcony, letting his machines disable his suit, piece by piece, and finally stepped into his living room. He tried to appear casual, but he couldn’t see Loki, and the thought that he’d found Peter was tearing him to shreds.

“Hey, Reindeer Games,” he shouted, going to the bar and pouring himself a glass of whiskey, trying to appear indifferent. “Want a drink? You know where to find me.”

He glanced up, putting on the bracelets he kept behind the bar counter, just in case he needed his suit to come to him instead of the other way around. “I’ve got some good whiskey. I—”

He looked up, and the words caught in his throat as he saw his son’s tear-streaked face as he was pushed through the doorway, stumbling over the threshold. Loki followed close behind, his spear in one hand; his other hand was clamped tight on Peter’s shoulder.

“Dad?” The boy said quietly, his voice breaking.

Tony froze, his eyes flicking steadily between Loki and his son. Loki had that damn Cheshire cat smile and was looking like he’d already won.

“I believe I found something I wasn’t supposed to,” Loki drawled, tightening his fingers on Peter’s collarbone. Peter bit his lip, eyes squeezed shut. Tony flinched. “Care to introduce me, Stark?”

Tony instead focused his eyes on Peter, staring at his son with what he hoped was a brave, confident face. “It’s okay,” he said, vaguely surprised at how steady his voice was. “Peter. It’s okay.”

His son opened his eyes to look at him, tears brimming, clumping his lashes and wetting his cheeks. Peter gave the barest of nods, gasping in a breath.

“Peter,” Loki said, and Tony’s eyes shot back to the _thing_ holding his son, fury brimming in his gut. “Strong name, boy. Now, Stark—” Loki looked up, smiling. “I’d come a bit closer, please. Unless—” Peter shuddered and tried to pull away, but Loki put the tip of his spear to Peter’s temple, tightening his hold on his shoulder. “—you’d like your son to turn out like your friend Clint.”

“So help me God, Loki—” Tony growled, taking a few steps forward.

“Which one?” Loki asked, his face the perfect image of patronizing confusion. “I’m sorry, it’s just been so confusing, lately, but my idiot brother is quite occupied. Now. Come closer, please.”

Tony fisted his hands at his sides, stepping closer. Peter’s wide eyes followed him every step of the way, his son futilely trying to twist his head away from the spear’s point.

As soon as he was close enough, he reached out to grab Peter, to touch him, _something_ , but Loki just _tsked_ and took a step back, eliciting a startled gasp from Peter. “Not so fast, now.”

“Give me,” Tony ground out, his voice dangerously low, “my son.”

“I don’t feel so threatened, Stark,” Loki said, smiling, the Glowstick of Destiny hanging loosely at his side, now. “I have an army.”

“We have a Hulk.”

“And I have your son, so who’s really winning?” At the words, Loki’s fingers dug into Peter’s shoulder. His son cried out, reaching up to pry the hand off, but Loki just dragged him back a step, his son’s face twisted in pain.

“Besides, how will your friends possibly have time for me…when they’re too busy fighting you?”

Before Tony had time to react, Loki surged forward, dragging Peter with him, and pushed the tip of the spear against his chest.

Tony had time to take a breath, to prepare himself, to hear the anguished “ _No_!” leave his son’s lips, before the tip touched his heart…

…and clinked ineffectively against the plating of his arc reactor.

Loki’s eyes furrowed, and Peter took a shaky breath, sobbing in relief. “Dad,” he whined, looking up, but Tony was still reeling—he really thought he was a goner, there.

“This usually works,” Loki mumbled, perplexed.

“Well, you know, performance issues…” Tony quipped, his hand reaching slowly for Peter. He’d barely brushed his son’s arm before Loki threw him to the side, his hand reaching up to wrap around Tony’s throat.

…

Peter landed with a grunt, his side slamming into the raised step leading to the bar area of his dad’s living area. The wind was knocked out of him and his vision blurred; he took a deep breath that sent stabs of pain through his body, trying to lift his head.

He wiped the drying tears from his face as best he could and sat up, steadying himself with a hand on the ground and an arm around his middle, clutching his side; his breaths came in shallow pants.

He looked up to find his dad, just to see Loki toss him through the window, the glass shattering as he fell.

Peter couldn’t breathe.

“No!” He shouted, his pain forgotten. He raced past Loki and fell to his knees in the broken glass, the shards cutting into his palms as more tears leaked out. “Dad! _Daddy_!”

Just then, a blast of sound reached his ears, and he turned just in time to see the compartmentalized suit his dad had been working on shooting out the window over his head, diving rapidly for his falling father.

He let out a sob of relief, deflating, falling back onto his heels as he slumped.

“That was unexpected,” Loki said behind him. Peter whirled just in time for Loki to fist a hand in his hair, dragging him back away from the window. “Now, child, I still have a use for you.”

“No, n-no, _please_ ,” Peter sobbed, hands clutching Loki’s wrist as he pulled him upright. His teary eyes fell fearfully on the spear clutched in Loki’s hand, and Peter shuddered convulsively as Loki smiled down at him.

“Your father wouldn’t dare hurt you,” he said quietly, bringing the tip level with Peter’s sternum. Peter sobbed again in terror, trying desperately to twist away. “so if he’s busy fighting _you_ —”

“Let the kid go,” a new voice said from the doorway. Peter’s head turned to the voice, as much as he could—only to see a woman with fiery red hair and a wicked looking gun. “And if you’re feeling generous, I’ll take your Light Saber.”

Loki laughed, low in his throat, and tossed Peter aside. He landed with a grunt on the broken glass, scrapes lining his bruised arms.

“The spy,” Loki said, smirking. “Come to save the day with nothing but a toy and a desperation for redemption, is that it?”

“Mm, I’d say I brought a little more than desperation,” she said with a sly smile of her own, nodding behind Loki. Loki turned, his eyes darkening when—when something came out of the doorway.

Peter blinked wearily, sure his overloaded brain was playing tricks on him, because—was that the Hulk?

The huge green man snorted angrily, nudging away the entrance from the terrace like tin foil, coming to box Loki in between them.

Loki smiled at the ground, chuckling to himself. “Yes, your trump card. I’m sorry to say, I—”

“He’s not the only one she brought,” said yet another man, the elevator doors opening and allowing him entrance. Peter started, staring at the man his father had told him bedtime stories about.

Captain America stood, staring Loki down with enough righteousness to make Peter feel like he should apologize to his dad for not cleaning his room.

Beside him emerged a blond man with a sleeveless vest, an arrow knocked and ready on his bow. “I’ve got a couple choice words for you, pal,” the man bit out, absolute murder in his eyes. He hesitated when he caught Peter’s incredulous glance—his eyes were everywhere, trying to take everything in, and Clint looked hurriedly away. “Well, when—when the little ears are gone.”

“Brother,” said a large, muscled man as he came in through the window Peter was leaning next to, nearly giving the boy a heart attack. Peter scooted back, away from them, until his back hit the wall. He scooted into a corner, bracing his arms on the walls on either side of him, trying to sink into it.

He wanted his dad.

“You’re beaten, Loki,” the new man said, a huge hammer at his side. “Please, brother. Give up.”

Loki, who looked ruffled, now, shook his head. “I’m done playing your games, _brother_ ,” he spat the word, wielding the spear like a sword. “The five of you incompetent fools will never defeat me. You have no _idea_ what’s coming—”

“Oh, thank you. He said five; guess I’m not an incompetent fool after all.”

Peter sobbed in relief, forcing himself onto shaky legs as his dad flew through the broken glass, not wasting any more time before he blasted Loki right in the chest with his repulsor.

“Stay down, Severus.”

“Dad,” Peter sobbed, stumbling towards the man. He was too tired, too scared, and in way too much pain to remember that he wasn’t supposed to call him Dad in front of other people, but Tony didn’t seem to mind. He shed the armor as quickly as he could and threw himself at Peter, his face twisted in concern.

Peter’s legs gave out, but his dad got to him just in time to catch him, holding him tightly against his chest, threading one hand through Peter’s hair.

“Hey,” his dad breathed, holding Peter as he cried. “Hey, kiddo, I’m here. I’m here, you’re okay; it’s over. It’s over, I promise.”

Peter just sobbed into the man’s shoulder, his arms tight around his neck.

“Stark?” Captain America questioned. Peter opened his bleary eyes to see Thor setting his hammer on Loki’s chest, rendering him absolutely immobile; the woman and the boy and arrow guy grabbed the spear and raced to the stairs—maybe to stop the aliens?

“Who’s this?”

Peter tensed, hiding his face in his dad’s shoulder again, and he felt the man go rigid against him. The Hulk snuffled from the side, surveying the scene with indifferent eyes, instead pinning the downed god with an angry look.

“This is—” his dad stopped, sighing, and picked Peter up in his arms, holding him close. “I’ll—I’ll explain later, Cap. First, let’s get rid of the lizards and the demigod, huh?”

Steve gave a thin frown, but nodded sharply, turning and barking an order. Peter tensed as the Hulk passed them, but he only stopped alongside Loki, who was looking around with absolute hatred in his eyes.

The huge man snorted, muttering, “Puny god.”

The look of indignation on Loki’s face was enough to bring a wet smile to Peter’s face, even as his dad carried him to the elevator.

“Let’s get you fixed up, buddy,” his dad said as the doors closed, setting him down to lean against the elevator wall. “Down to the Med Bay, okay? Where does it hurt?”

The fear in his dad’s eyes betrayed his concern, even though his voice was sure and steady. Peter sniffed, wiping his eyes on his shoulder before stuttering, “I—h-he—threw me into th-the glass…I just…got all cut up.” He showed his dad his palms and arms, dozens of tiny scratches still weeping slowly.

His dad’s eyes became stormy for a moment, but the anger faded as he sighed, picking up one of Peter’s hands and kissing his palm. “Better?”

Peter quirked a smile. “That’s n-not how it works, Dad.”

“Pretty sure it is,” he quipped, smiling sadly. “Let’s get you fixed up, okay? The others are dealing with the alien invasion now; after that—” he paused, looking down. “Then we’ll…introduce you. Lay out the situation. Okay?”

Peter swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”

…

A couple dozen butterfly bandages, two rolls of ace bandage, and one bowl of ice cream later, Peter found himself crammed against his dad’s side on the couch in the remains of the living room, the five other battered heroes surrounding him.

“This,” his dad said, looking down with a fond smile, “is Peter. My son.”

“No shit,” Clint said, then shut up at his dad’s look. “Sorry, kiddo. No shit, _Sherlock_.”

“Clint,” Steve said, looking over. Clint raised his hands in surrender and leaned back.

“Wait, so—” Dr. Banner said, rubbing his eyes. The man looked absolutely exhausted. “You’ve been hiding a secret kid for ten years?”

“Eleven,” Peter felt compelled to add, a bit sulkily. He was almost twelve, geez.

“Yes,” his dad said pointedly, looking around. “And I expect it to stay that way, understand?”

“Question one,” Natasha said, leaning back. Peter had picked up on their names after a bit of eavesdropping. “How did you keep this a secret? Who’s the mom?”

Peter flinched, looking down, and his dad turned to her with no small amount of anger. “That’s a little personal, Romanov.”

“Um…it’s okay,” Peter said quietly, looking up at his dad, leaning in against him. “I mean, i-if you’re okay with…with telling them, it’s okay with me.”

His dad locked eyes with him, and Peter tried to look sure of himself, confident. His dad sighed, relenting, and pulled Peter tighter against his side. Peter didn’t mind. He didn’t want to be away from his dad for a second after the day he’d had.

“I didn’t know about him until he was six,” his dad admitted, looking down. “His mother died, and left me full custody in the will…paperwork signed, room furnished…and I got the best kiddo in the world.”

Peter smiled into his dad’s side.

“That’s why you wouldn’t leave the Tower,” Steve said in realization, leaning back. “Why you didn’t want to join the team. You had Peter.”

“On the nose, Ice Pop,” his dad said, shifting to get more comfortable. “And—dammit, I know I said this, but…this has to stay secret, you understand me?”

“I do not understand,” Thor said, leaning back. “Having a son is a wonderful gift; should it not be celebrated?”

“It’s not like that,” his said quickly, squeezing Peter’s shoulder. Peter knew, though; they’d had this talk a thousand times, and it didn’t bother him anymore. “Not at all. You saw, today—I have a lot of enemies, and if they know I have a son that I love and would do anything to protect…” His dad shivered, and Peter wrapped his arms around him, trying to reassure the man. His dad wrapped him in his arms in return, cupping the back of his head. “I can’t let that happen.”

Steve nodded, looking down. “Alright. Your secret’s safe with us, Stark.”

“That’s what a team’s for, right?” Natasha said, looking up with a small smile. “Trusting us with secrets.”

His dad hesitated a second, then nodded. “Yeah. I’m…trusting you with the most important thing in my life.”

“We will not fail you, Shield brother,” Thor said proudly, picking up his hammer. “If you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to on Asgard…a little brother to try, a father to placate, all the political dramas of the day. And Starkson,” he said, looking at Peter. Peter looked up in surprise, meeting the god’s eyes. “You’re a noble warrior, Peter. I hope we meet again soon!”

Peter’s eyes widened, and he absently nodded. “Uh—th-thank you.”

Thor nodded to him, to the rest of them, and then disappeared out the window, flying into the night sky.

“You do kinda look like Stark,” Clint said, leaning forward. “Hm. Nice to meet you, Peter.”

Peter smiled nervously, but he felt okay since his dad was with him. “You, too. Uh, all of you.”

“Good work today, son,” Steve said, nodding at him. Peter felt a blush creep up his cheeks, turning away. “We should go help with the cleanup, guys.”

“Not me,” Banner said, waving a weary hand in their direction. “Count me out. I’m taking a nap.”

Peter snorted, smiling, and his dad ruffled his hair. “You sure you’re okay, Peter?”

Peter smiled up at the man, his pain forgotten. He knew he’d just met them all, and it was a chance meeting, never planned…but for some reason, he felt like this was the start of something. Maybe something more than the little world he’d shared with his dad inside this Tower.

“Yeah,” he said, laying his head on his dad’s shoulder and staring at the stars in the night sky through the broken window, almost snorting at the irony. “I’m good, Dad. I’m…really good.”

Something new, he decided. Maybe…the beginning of a family.


	4. Unagi!

Peter’s spidey sense buzzed quietly in his skull. It wasn’t unusual with the crowded school hallways—people bumped into each other, dropped things; it wasn’t a very efficient streamline. However, it flared just enough to make him glance around, just to see if anything was wrong.

Ned noticed. “What’s up?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said quietly. “Probably nothing, but my spidey sense went off a little bit.”

Ned’s eyes went wide. “Dude, are we gonna be attacked by aliens again?”

“ _No_ , Ned. It would be a lot more intense if it was that.”

Ned sighed. “Damn. I don’t want to sit through another of MJ’s ‘motivational sessions.’” Ned shivered.

Peter smiled, about to respond, but something caught his attention.

“Hey, did you see all those black SUVs in front of the school a few minutes ago?” A girl asked her friend to Peter’s left. Peter slowed, his eyebrows drawing closer together in confusion.

“Yeah,” her friend responded, grabbing something out of her locker and stuffing it in her backpack, her features bright. “I heard a rumor that it was, like, a government guy or something. That he was gonna talk to a student about some kind of Gifted program?”

“Whoa, that would be awesome,” her friend replied, grinning. “I bet—”

Even Peter’s enhanced hearing couldn’t pick up the rest of her statement over the warning bell, so he followed Ned to class, the uncomfortable pull in his neck still tingling away.

“You ready for Senora Alonso’s quiz today?” Ned asked, dumping his backpack by his first period seat and plopping down after it, looking as exhausted as Peter felt. It was approaching midterms, and they’d both been studying more than usual to keep up with everything. “I barely studied.”

“For once, I feel kind of good about it,” Peter said with a small smile, remembering how Natasha had drilled him on the vocabulary until he knew it like his own name. “Nat helped me study.”

Ned gave him a flat stare. “I hate you. You’re so casual. ‘Oh, yeah, Black Widow just, like, helped me study for my Spanish quiz, no _problem_ ,’” Ned said with an exasperated eye roll.

Peter laughed and went to fish out his notebook when he heard his name called, and looked up to see Mr. Harrington beckoning him to the front of the classroom. Peter went, dodging the students still trickling in from the crowded hallways. “Sir?” He asked as Mr. Harrington finished signing something.

“Actually, you’ve been excused from classes for the day,” Mr. Harrington said, handing him a hall pass with a proud smile. “Someone’s waiting in the front office to see you.”

Peter didn’t know why, but his spider sense flared and his stomach dropped.

“Um…uh, I didn’t—”

Mr. Harrington may have sensed his unease, but for the wrong reason. “Oh, no, you’re not in trouble; quite the opposite, actually. There’s a very important individual who wants to talk to you about a trial program for talented high-schoolers. It’s a very big honor. You—” He looked up, then, and finally saw Peter’s face. “Peter, are you okay? You look like you’re not feeling too good.” His voice was laced with concern.

“I’m fine,” Peter said automatically, shaking his head a bit. “I just, uh…just tired, you know? With classes and everything.” 

Mr. Harrington nodded, still looking concerned. “Well, don’t stress yourself out, okay? Get some sleep tonight. For now, head on down to the office. I’m sure Ned can give you any notes you miss.”

Peter nodded dumbly and, scooping up his backpack and exchanging a worried look with Ned, headed for the office.

He felt like he was walking a damn green mile for some reason.

His hands shook as he gripped the pass, his backpack weighing him down as his feet dragged along. Latecomers were still rushing around the hallway trying to get to class before the tardy bell, and he took advantage of the traffic to slow his journey.

Based on Mr. Harrington’s explanation and the rumors he’d heard earlier, it was someone pretty high up in the government; the multiple SUVs supported that.

There were three things it could be. One, maybe it was someone genuinely interested in him for some big program…but he didn’t see that as being likely. He had good grades—top of his class, in fact—but he went to Midtown Science and Technology. _Everyone_ here was smart in their own right. If there was such a thing as this program, then they’d be looking for someone with excellent grades and probably a hefty extra-curricular resume, and maybe a big service commitment, neither of which he had. Well, that he could put on a resume, anyways.

_Service Activities: As Spiderman, I stop small-time crime while wearing a bright Spandex suit._

_Extracurriculars: Also as Spiderman, I train with the Avengers in an effort to improve my leadership skills, work on my collaboration skills, and make sure I don’t die while participating in the aforementioned service activities._

_Also, Decathlon._

Peter snorted. Yeah, writing his resume would be fun in a couple years.

The other two—and far more likely—options were that a) someone knew he was Spiderman, and b) someone knew his real last name was Stark.

Peter couldn’t decide which of those would be worse for the government to know.

With a heavy heart, he saw the office door down the hall. Two huge men in suits with sunglasses and unconcealed handguns were stationed on either side of it. Peter guessed the rule about no firearms didn’t apply to important government officials.

In a moment of panic, Peter stopped himself from turning the corner and ducked behind the lockers for just a second, praying they hadn’t seen him. Lifting his watch to his mouth, he whispered, “Karen, text Dad and tell him that someone weird wants to talk to me and I’ve been excused from classes all day. Tell him the guy’s from the government. I don’t know what it is, or if it’s anything bad, but…just tell him I wanted him to know, and…”

Peter paused. He didn’t want his dad to rush down to the school if this was nothing, but the nagging ache in his head was telling a different story. Peter’s palms were sweating and his heart was thumping too hard in his chest, and he was scared.

He didn’t like asking for help, especially from his dad and the others. If they were ever going to take him seriously as a superhero, then he needed to start handling things on his own. He knew that.

But right now, he was just a kid at school, and he kind of wanted his dad. He wasn’t supposed to be a Spiderman or a Stark right now.

Things like this didn’t happen to Peter Parker, and definitely not at school.

“Karen…delete that, but text Dad and ask him to come down to the school or send one of the others down, just…whenever they’re free. I just want one of them around in case.”

“Of course, Peter,” Karen said, her voice sympathetic. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

He smiled minutely, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans and whispering his thanks. He steeled himself, marching the rest of the way to the office.

The two men outside regarded him coolly, looking unimpressed.

“Uh, I’m—” his voice cracked, and he detected a hint of an amused smile on one of their faces. Blushing, clearing his throat, he said, “I’m…Peter Parker? I was told to come down here…”

Without much preamble, they stepped aside and opened the door for him. After a moment of hesitation and a jerky nod of acknowledgement, Peter stepped through into the office, feeling too much like he was walking into a den of lions.

“Peter,” a voice said to his left. He looked to see the receptionist, Ms. Smith (though she liked him and insisted he call her Angela after learning that his mother had died when he was young) said. She smiled at him, but her eyes betrayed her worry. “Principal Morita and our guest are waiting just through there.” She nodded towards the conference room door.

Peter swallowed and tried to give her a smile, but he thought it may have been more of a grimace.

Taking a deep breath, steeling himself again, he was just about to knock on the door when his watch vibrated. Starting, he read the message quickly.

_Be there soon. You okay?_

Peter didn’t respond. He didn’t want to look too suspicious to the guards he knew must be watching him. Instead, he knocked on the door.

It was opened for him almost immediately by another suit, and he almost stumbled back a step in surprise. “Peter, that you?” Principal Morita’s voice reached him. “Come on in.”

Principal Morita was smiling at him with pride. Multiple suits dotted the large room—two by the window, two by the door, two on either side of the figure with his back to Peter—and Peter couldn’t help but feel claustrophobic. He swallowed, wiping his palms yet again on his jeans, trying to ignore the fact that he could feel himself shaking.

“Peter, I’d like to introduce you to someone,” Principal Morita said, standing up. Peter took a couple hesitant steps forward. The conference table was long, with five seats on each side and one on each end. Principal Morita was in the seat facing him, and the mystery man had his back to him, the high back chair excluding all of him except a large hand and thick wrist, adorned with a heavy silver watch.

Not for long, though.

The man stood up and turned around, and when Peter saw who it was, he almost fainted.

He’d know that ridiculous mustache anywhere.

“Pleasure to meet you, son,” Thaddeus Ross said, holding his hand out with an amiable smile that Peter knew was completely fake. “I’m Secretary of State General Ross.”

Peter was speechless for a moment.

Peter had spent the past couple years reading obsessively about this man. His dad and Steve were close again now, and everyone was fine, but he wanted to know about what caused their blowout—the Accords.

Peter admitted that he didn’t know enough about the intricacies of laws and politics to take an official stance on the Accords, but he did know that forced to choose between the two, he’d support his dad no matter what. That didn’t mean, though, that he didn’t miss Steve and everyone else when they were gone.

It hadn’t lasted long. Steve and everyone and his dad had agreed to a truce while they tried to draft a new version that would satisfy both parties, but Peter never wanted to penthouse to feel so empty again.

So he’d read and researched, and without fail, this man’s name had popped up more than once. This was the guy Peter had read obsessively about, researched, laid awake at night worrying over. Peter had talked to his dad, and he’d said in no uncertain terms that Ross was an asshole with no compassion or humanity. That his vision was too black and white to be beneficial.

Peter also knew that he hated mutants. Wanted them all rounded up and put away, or tracked and observed all the time, or—

Peter swallowed convulsively. He was suddenly really glad he’d texted his dad.

After a pause that he’s sure was too long, Peter took the offered hand. Ross tried to smile, but it was more of a smirk. “No need to be nervous, son.”

“Peter, General Ross has a very special offer to talk over with you,” his principal said, beckoning Peter to come sit down. Peter did, three seats down from the General. He didn’t miss how the suits adjusted to close in on him just a bit closer. “Are you comfortable if I leave you to talk? I’ve been told there are a couple confidentiality issues.”

Peter almost threw up at the prospect, but he forced himself to nod, because even he knew it was a rhetorical question.

Principal Morita smiled encouragingly and left the room, saying, “If you need me, I’ll be in my office. Thank you again, General Ross, and please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

“I think we’ll be fine, but thank you,” the General said, shaking his hand.

And then he and Peter were alone.

Peter sat on his hands, but even then they shook.

“Peter,” General Ross said, that half-smile-half-smirk back. “You don’t have to be so nervous.”

Peter cleared his throat, trying for a laugh. “Um…sorry, sir.” Better to think he was just nervous than scared out of his freaking mind.

“So,” Ross said, leaning forward, folding his hands on the table. “There’s a couple things I’d like to talk to you about.”

Peter nodded.

Ross quirked a smile, looking almost apologetic. “I’ll have to apologize—there is no talent program.”

Peter’s heart leapt into his throat, and he felt his eyes widen despite his best efforts.

“I needed to talk to you, but school rules and regulations are a lot stricter than back in my day,” he said almost affably. “And I couldn’t very well come see you at home, now, could I?”

Peter gripped the armrests, and he had to consciously restrain himself from breaking them and giving himself away.

“I’ll just cut right to it,” Ross said. “I know Tony Stark is your biological father, and I know that you live with him and the other…Avengers…in Avengers Tower.” Peter physically jerked. “The penthouse, actually. I know that he gained custody of you when you were six years old after your biological mother died, and I know that ‘Parker’ was her maiden name that you decided to keep. Smart, on your father’s part.”

Peter opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came.

Ross smirked again. “I’d like to talk about…what we can do for each other.”

“What could you possibly do for me?” Peter said indignantly, before he could stop himself. There went his mouth, running away from his brain again.

Ross blinked in surprise and snorted. “You’ve got your father’s spunk, apparently.”

Peter went rigid, two steps away from defending his father, when Ross continued, “Look, I’ll be frank. Your father and I disagree on a few things, but…I think after you listen to me, you’ll see I’m not as much of a monster as he’s made me out to be.” Ross sighed. “I know this is putting you in a difficult position, Peter. Having Tony Stark as a father…knowing he’s hiding you away from the world because he doesn’t want to admit to his own mistakes…I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been, growing up like that—”

“Shut up.”

Peter was even surprised by the bite in his tone. Ross was too, by the surprise on his face. Peter wasn’t about to let anyone talk about his dad like that, scary government dude with lots of power or not. “You don’t know anything about me or my dad, or the rest of my family. My dad is ten times the man you’ll ever be, asshole. He doesn’t hide me from the world because he’s embarrassed, he hides me because of dicks like _you_ who want to use me against him because they’re not man enough to solve their problems the right way. So don’t say a _word_ about my dad.”

The silence was thick, and Peter saw one of the suits shift uncomfortably.

Ross chuckled, surprising Peter, but his eyes were hard, his jaw and that ridiculous mustache tense in anger. “You’ve got his mouth, too.”

“I’m a lot like him,” Peter said, gaining confidence, foolhardy as it was. “I’m also like him in that I don’t have to sit here and listen to your bullshit.”

“I think it’s in your best interests to hear me out.”

“I don’t want to hear you out,” Peter said, shaking his head, thoroughly done with this man and his goons and the terror in his gut and the simmering anger still boiling at his words. He grabbed his backpack and stood, itching to get out of this man’s presence. “I want to go back to class. I have a Spanish quiz.”

“Sit down, Peter.”

His tone was icy, firm, and left no room for argument. Peter suddenly knew why he’d been an Army General. Peter steeled himself and made for the door anyways.

He didn’t make it very far.

The suits who’d been by the window grabbed his arms, one on each side, and halted his progress. Peter knew, he _knew_ they would, had felt his spidey sense ache in warning, but he was terrified of giving this man any more leverage against him.

Instead he thrashed, trying to dislodge the hands, but they held him steady. He opened his mouth to call out, but one of them anticipated it and clapped a hand over Peter’s mouth, silencing him.

Peter yelled anyway, but it was too muffled to be any use. He kept struggling.

The guards were mutants.

They had to be, because now he was panicking, thrashing with his real strength, and the hands were _not_ budging.

He sucked in air through his nose, lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, and felt his limbs fall heavy as he exhausted himself thrashing uselessly. Ross sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose and rising from his seat. “I really wish it hadn’t come to this, Peter.”

Peter’s eyes went wide as Ross approached him, seeming to tower over him as he got closer. “Your father and I…disagree on the Accords.” Peter’s brain halted. _So that’s what this is about_. “We seem to have very different philosophies on the place of mutants in the free world, and I think…” Ross dropped a heavy hand on Peter’s shoulder and squeezed ever so slightly. Peter flinched. “I think that you’re just the person to get him and the rest of your ‘family’ to see things my way.”

Peter tried to shake his head, but the goon still had a firm grip on his jaw. Ross nodded his head and the man let go, Peter sucking in a breath of air. He panted, both from adrenaline and oxygen deprivation, than spat, “I won’t help you. I researched you and what you want to do and…no way. I’m not helping you.”

Peter was surprised at the steadiness of his voice given the pounding of his heart.

Ross smirked, grabbing Peter’s jaw. Peter flinched back, but his grip was strong, and he couldn’t quite take his eyes off Ross’ commanding stare. “You will, but it’s going to be my way or your way.”

He let go of Peter with a little shove. Peter thought he was going to walk away, but instead, Ross slammed his fist into Peter’s gut. The teen grunted, but most of the noise was stolen by the air being forced out of his lungs. The goons dropped his arms and he collapsed onto his hands and knees, one arm going to his throbbing middle and he struggled to pull in air.

“Grab his bag,” Ross said, and Peter squeezed his eyes shut; he sucked in a sliver of air and coughed, trying to breathe slow, “and get him up.”

Peter’s wrist vibrated. He opened his bleary eyes, watching one of the suits pick up his backpack in his periphery. Peter sucked in a breath, blinking to clear his vision, and read the message from his dad.

_Stuck in traffic. Almost there. Everything okay?_

Peter heaved a sigh of relief.

His dad was almost here.

“Karen,” he croaked quietly.

His wrist buzzed twice in reassurance. God, he loved Karen. She’d tell his dad what was going on.

He felt a hand encircle his upper arm before he was jerked up. He stifled a grunt, not wanting to give Ross the satisfaction, and clutched his free arm around his middle.

“Now, we’re going to walk out of here,” Ross said quietly, commandingly, “and you’re not going to put up a fight or make a scene, okay? You do, I’ll reveal your identity and falsify your bloodwork and some police reports to make you a dangerous mutant that needs to be detained permanently. No visits, no sunlight, no company…nothing. You understand me?”

Peter’s heart stopped at the mention of bloodwork, and he nodded. The prospect of the threat was terrifying enough, but if Ross took his bloodwork and found the anomalies…

The goon dropped his arm, and Peter rubbed the area, knowing there’d be a handprint there later. Peter stood quietly, trying not to hate himself for not fighting back.

Ross smiled in triumph, sweeping an arm towards the door in invitation. Peter looked down, feeling very weak, and very helpless, and generally _not_ like a superhero.

He wasn’t supposed to be a superhero now. He wasn’t supposed to be worried about his identity and his family right now. He was supposed to be taking a Spanish quiz, and worrying about what snide comment Flash would make next, and worrying about not falling asleep in History, and laughing with Ned, and blushing whenever MJ tried to talk to him.

He shouldn’t be in pain and biting back tears of absolute _terror_ and trying to think of ways he could not get kidnapped from school without giving himself away.

Lifting his head, trying to retain some of his dignity, Peter dropped his hand and walked to the door. Ross put a hand on the small of his back, maybe to guide him, maybe to keep him from going anywhere, but Peter shoved it off all the same, glaring up at him.

“I can walk myself out.”

Ross smirked again, but he looked less than amused.

The trudge to the parked cars was quick and anticlimactic, but Peter’s eyes were constantly peeled for an escape route. If he was being honest, the most concerning part about this whole situation was that, while Angela was concerned and called for Principal Morita because it was _against school policy to take a child out of school without the consent of the legal guardian_ , Principal Morita seemed totally okay with it, still starstruck by the high-ranking government official interested in one of his students.

When they finally got outside, Peter glanced around desperately, praying he’d see one of his dad’s cars around, but there was nothing. The front of the school was paved off the main road, and the cars buzzing along a few hundred feet away were too far to recognize his predicament. Ross put a firm hand on the back of Peter’s neck, and Peter tensed. “Don’t want you going anywhere.”

Peter jerked in his grip, but the fingers tightened, forcing Peter’s head back a bit and drawing a grunt from him. “Be a good boy and you’ll be back with your dad before you know it.”

Peter was two inches away from using his powers, identity or not.

They were approaching one of the SUVs, and he knew this was his last shot.

Without really thinking anything through, he sent an elbow into Ross’ gut, hearing the man choke as he doubled over and released Peter’s neck, and tried to bolt through the small opening between two of the goons.

He thought he was clear, adrenaline pumping at the prospect of freedom, but he felt a hand snag the back of his shirt at the collar. His hoodie tightened around his throat, and he choked, feeling the breath leave his lungs as he tried to gasp. The hand hauled him back, and Peter wheezed a breath only to be slammed against a firm chest, arms wrapping around him and dragging him back towards the now-open door.

“No! No—” He shouted, his pride gone, his terror doubled, but a hand came in and clamped his mouth shut again. And if he’d been on the fence before about the suits being mutants, he was convinced now, because he was using every _shred_ of his strength, and he wasn’t getting anywhere.

His heart sank and his strength almost gave out as they dragged him into the van, his dad and the rest of his family nowhere in sight.

As soon as he was in and the door was shut, he heard the tires squeal, and the entourage peeled out of the parking lot. Amidst his struggles, he took a moment to evaluate his surroundings, just like Steve had taught him. It was spacious, more like a limousine than an SUV, with bench seats facing each other and a good bit of carpeted space between them. The tinted windows blocked most of the sunlight, but the interior was well enough lit.

The goons on either side of him wrenched his arms above his head and handcuffed them together, the chain through a loop of steel just slightly separated from the ceiling. Peter tugged, _pulled_ , but they didn’t budge.

Swallowing, shaking, but trying to be brave, Peter looked at Ross.

The man had undone his tie and was still breathing heavily, Peter guessed due to his assault. He smirked, still panting from his struggles to get away, still terrified, but glad that he’d fought back.

His meager happiness slipped away when Ross made eye contact with him.

“When we get where we’re going,” Ross said with a conviction so strong it made Peter flinch, “you’re going to pay dearly for that and your display, son.”

Peter lifted his chin. “I’m not your son. I’m Iron Man’s son, and he’s gonna kick your _ass_.”

Ross laughed and responded by rolling down the window and tossing his backpack—and his cellphone—out the window. “He’ll have to find us first, boy.”

Peter did his best to look afraid, but he knew that Karen was tracking him, and if she’d told his dad what was going on, then he’d be found within minutes.

“Where are you taking me?” He asked, still struggling with the tight cuffs. He felt them biting into his wrists, blood soaking into the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Somewhere off the grid,” Ross replied, fishing his cellphone out of his pocket and dialing typing something. “To give dear old dad and company a few days to rethink their position.”

Peter jerked against the cuffs again, but there was no give. Ross heard the clanking and looked up, chuckling. “Those are reinforced for mutants, kiddo. You’re not getting out of them.”

That didn’t stop Peter’s struggles.

Peter let his head thunk back against the seat in frustration, squeezing his eyes shut to keep the tears from falling.

He knew his dad couldn’t be far behind, but he wanted out of this car _now_ , away from this man and these guys who were completely capable of keeping him contained and away from his family, and—

His spidey sense flared so violently that he almost cried out, and half a second later the world exploded.

Well, that was inaccurate. There was a flash so bright and loud that it penetrated the tinted windows and bulletproof, reinforced doors, sending the car spinning out of control, but it felt, with Peter’s enhanced senses, like the world around him completely evaporated in the boom.

Peter grasped the chains attached to his wrists like lifelines, trying to keep himself semi-steady and in place as glass shattered and the car spun in circles. He felt the cuffs cutting into his wrists, glass nicking his skin, but all he could do was shut his eyes, hold his breath, and try to keep himself from flailing.

They’d never put a seatbelt on him, so when the car finally lost its traction and flipped, he went every direction possible.

Peter thought it must have flipped several times, but he was lost in sort of an endless vortex of movement and glass while it was happening. The crashing and crunching of metal was too deafening to comprehend, the spinning to violent to process. When it finally came to a stop upside down, skidding several feet along the pavement, Peter let his battered body thunk against the upholstered roof.

He must have blacked out for a moment, because he next remembered opening his eyes, squinting against the sunlight pouring in through the broken windows. His arms, remarkably, were still chained to the ceiling (floor?) and, taking stock of himself, he felt battered and bruised and overall like crap, but aside from a few tender ribs that might have been fractured, miraculously nothing was broken.

Peter coughed, feeling his chest twinge with the motion, his lungs burning from the acrid smoke and the scent of burned rubber. His ears were ringing, but over the shrill whine and the sounds of groaning metal, he heard the unmistakable sounds of repulsors.

The men around him stirred, but he knew there was no reason to be afraid when a red and gold hand reached through the window, ripping the side door clean off. His dad stepped into the frame, looking around until his eyes locked with Peter.

His facemask retracted and he dropped to his knees beside Peter, his face drawn tight with worry. “Peter? Pete, look at me.”

“Dad,” Peter slurred as his dad fired up his repulsor, slowly melting the chains attaching his wrists together. The metal broke with a small noise, and he wasted no time in picking Peter up under his knees and back and carting him out of the wreckage.

Peter felt his body go limp, his head lolling back over his dad’s arm and his eyes drooping closed as the shock of everything hit him and the adrenaline drained away. Through the haze, he heard his dad whisper, “I’ve got you, Pete. It’s okay. It’s okay, kiddo, I’m here.”

Peter didn’t really care what happened after that.

He heard the voices of his other family, Steve and Nat and Bucky and everyone, asking about him as he lay limp in his dad’s arms, and his dad’s terse reply that FRIDAY’s scan didn’t show anything life-threatening.

Then he heard his dad say: “I hate to stick you on trash duty, but I’m taking my kid home.”

After that, he slipped completely under, safe.

…

“—not sure…happened...tried to…hate that mother—”

Peter knew that voice. He loved that voice. That was—his dad. Why’d it sound so upset? Was he in trouble?

“—take...going to be fine, don’t…anything stupid.”

Peter couldn’t piece together what they were saying, but he got the feeling it was about him. Feeling came back slowly after hearing. He was warm and cozy in a soft bed, sleepy and safe, a warm hand wrapped around his own. He twitched his fingers to make sure they were still working, and was pleased to find that they indeed were.

The hand wrapped more tightly around his, and he heard a chair scrape closer to the bed he was on, a shadow darkening the light behind his eyes. “Peter?”

Peter tried opening his eyes, but quickly shut them again. Too bright. Too bright, like—had there been an explosion?

“Lights down,” his dad said. “Try again, Pete. C’mon, kiddo, look at me. Please, Peter?”

His dad sounded so scared. Why did he sound like that?

Peter made himself open his eyes this time, keeping them open, to see what was going on.

“Dad?” He croaked quietly, watching his father’s face melt in relief at his voice, the man pressing a kiss to the back of his limp hand and fervently smoothing the bangs back from his forehead.

“Hey, kid,” his dad said with a watery smile, rubbing gentle circles on his forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

Peter blinked, considering. “Good,” he said honestly, trying to tighten his hold on his dad’s hand, but lacking the strength to do so. “Just…really tired.”

His dad nodded. “That’s good, Pete. That’s really good.”

Peter blinked again, glancing around with his limited mobility. Why was he in the MedBay?

“Dad?” He asked, face crinkled in confusion. “Why—?”

The words died in his throat as the memories came rushing back at him. Ross at his school, the threats, the car—the _crash_ —

His eyes widened. “Dad,” he said insistently, trying to sit up in his panic. “Dad, Ross—he—”

“Stay down, Peter,” his dad said firmly, pushing his shoulders back to the mattress. “It’s okay. I’m dealing with it, okay? I don’t want you to worry about anything, you understand me?”

“But—he, he _knows_ —”

“I know,” his dad shushed him, talking quietly. “I know, but I’m taking care of it. It’s gonna be okay, you understand me? You’re gonna go back to school just like normal when you’re healed, and everything is going to be exactly like before.”

There was a heaviness in his dad’s shoulders, a severity in his eyes, that Peter hadn’t seen in a few years and hoped he’d never see again. “Dad? What’s wrong?”

His dad smiled and opened his mouth to say something, but Peter cut him off. “No, don’t…tell me not t-to worry. I’m just going to…worry more. What is it?”

His dad sighed. “You have my stubbornness and I hate it sometimes.” Peter quirked a smile, but didn’t give in. “Ross is…well, less than pleased, and he’s threatening to tell the world that you’re my son if the others and I don’t back him on the original Accords.”

Peter had guessed as much, but the confession still sent a jolt through his body. His dad tightened his hold on Peter’s hand and said, “Look, Pete. I’m not saying this isn’t bad—it is. But we can deal with it, okay? We’ll come up with a counter-offer or something, something both sides can live with. If it doesn’t—if Ross doesn’t like it, and he ends up telling the world…” Tony did his best to shrug nonchalantly, but his face was tight. “Then we’ll deal with it. At least I’d finally get to show you off.” He added with a wink.

Peter could tell his dad was trying to play it off, but he couldn’t help that his body went rigid with fear at the words. The way his dad said it, he could almost be convinced that it wouldn’t be that bad, but he also had his dad’s genius mind. He knew better.

He’d probably be pulled out of school; the risk would be too great. His dad would never let him go anywhere alone—not to Mr. Delmar’s, not to Ned’s not to the library, or any of the museums…not even for a walk. His life would never be the same.

Peter licked his lips, brainstorming furiously. “What…what can we do?”

His dad sighed, squeezing Peter’s hand. “You’re not going to do anything but get better, you understand me? You almost gave me a heart attack when the car flipped. We’d placed the explosion so it would just run you off the road, but the damn driver had other ideas…and then they hadn’t put a seatbelt on you, and…” His dad shook his head, exhaling sharply. “I really thought I might have lost you, Pete. I can’t—I _refuse_ to go through that again. So I’m going to damn well give Ross just about anything he wants, even if I hate it.”

Peter swallowed, feeling miserable. This was just…an all-around shitstorm. “He’s not even gonna get in trouble for kidnapping me?”

His dad shook his head. “I can’t do anything without revealing who you are. He’s promised—from his hospital bed looking more like a mummy than you, I might add, so at least there’s that—that if I make any attempt to legally go after him, he’ll drop your real name in a heartbeat.”

Peter’s brows furrowed. “But…you didn’t do anything wrong.”

His dad cocked his head, the exhaustion clear on his face and in his body language. “What do you mean, kiddo?”

Peter licked his lips, gathering his energy reserves for his explanation. “I mean…hiding me from the world, lying about having kids…it’s not like that’s illegal, you know? If Ross outs me, it…it _sucks_ , sure, but you’re not going to get in trouble, and the government isn’t going to come after me, or anything. But if he outs me, then you don’t have to worry about my identity, and you can tell everyone what he did…kidnapping me from school. That’s a whole lot worse, right?”

His dad had started off listening with patient interest, probably gearing up to tell Peter all the politics surrounding this and why his idea wouldn’t work, and he’d thank him for trying to help and lecture him about getting better. But as Peter talked, his face slowly became more contemplative, more intrigued, and he found himself nodding along, and Peter could see the gears working in his head. “If he outs you, your identity is revealed…but then we can out him, and he goes to jail for kidnapping and blackmail…mutually assured destruction.”

His dad leaned back and scoffed, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re my little genius, Peter, you know that?”

Peter blinked. “Wait…is that an option?”

“Hell _yes_ , it’s an option,” his dad said excitedly. “It’s gonna be hard to approach, and a delicate matter of pros and cons and blackmail and what have you, but I can pull the files from your watch and edit together the voice recording of Ross’ and you interactions. I can show it to him and let him know perfectly well that as soon as he outs you, he’s going to jail…for the rest of his life.”

His dad grinned at him, pride and relief etched into the worry lines of his forehead. “My little genius. You’ve earned your dinner tonight, kiddo.”

Peter huffed a laugh, his eyelids drooping. “Thanks for saving me.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

“Mm…even Iron Man can’t be Iron Man all the time,” he mumbled sleepily, his thoughts somewhat disjointed after the fear-induced adrenaline had completely left his body.

His dad chuckled. “Well, you certainly make me feel like I need to try. You kind of get in tough situations a lot.”

Peter grunted unappreciatively and felt himself drifting, his dad’s hand carding through his hair. “Sleep now, kiddo. When you wake up, things will be back to normal. I promise.”

And Peter knew that his dad’s word was good for any promise he made, so completely content, Peter slept.

When he woke up, it was to a memo from Ross that his dad showed him.

Needless to say, mutually assured destruction was apparently too much for Ross’ little mind to handle, and he readily agreed to keep Peter’s identity confidential if Tony would keep the audio tapes from the press.

Peter scoffed, and told his dad that he thought Ross was a really poor excuse for an Army General. After all, it seemed like an insult to associate some of the bravest men in the country with _him_ , a coward with a lust for power and half a brain.

His dad laughed and ruffled his hair.

Peter smiled. True to his dad’s word, everything was back to normal.

And his biggest regret was that he’d never gotten to take his freaking Spanish quiz.


	5. I'll Be Home for Christmas

Peter fired a web at the ceiling, hoisting himself up until he was standing upside down, stretching out his hand. “Dad! Pass me the tree topper.”

His dad looked up, his face flat. “That’s cheating. Now that you have spider powers, you can’t just— _cheat_ your way into finishing the Christmas tree early.”

Peter laughed, webbing it from his dad’s hand and into his own. “You want a repeat of last year?”

“ _No_ ,” Rhodey said emphatically, unraveling tinsel from one of the several boxes littering the Avengers common room. His expression was absolute, and Peter snorted. “I _refuse_ to wait for you two to pry another damn tree off of me.”

“It was one time,” his dad scoffed, hands on his hips.

“Once too many!”

Peter grinned, reaching out upside down, meticulously fixing the porcelain tree-topper on the uppermost pointed branch, smiling when it stayed put. “There.”

“Nice, Pete,” his dad said, smiling up at him. “Now get down here before you fall and bust your head open.”

Peter did, dropping from the ceiling and landing in a crouch, smiling when his dad sighed. “You worry too much.”

“We’re home,” a voice shouted from the elevator. “You didn’t decorate everything already, did you?”

Peter recognized Steve’s voice from the elevator and laid eyes on him, his arms laden with grocery bags and wrapped gifts. Wanda stepped gracefully behind him, similarly loaded. “No, you’re just in time! We were about to start ornaments.”

“But Energizer Bunny here already stuck the tree topper on,” his dad pouted. “We’ve struggled for years to get that damn thing up there—all the _broken ladders_ I’ve gone through, but _no._ Just…pounces right up there and _slaps_ it on.”

Peter laughed, and Steve grinned knowingly. “Tony, you’re being dramatic. Kid’s got powers this year, may as well use them.”

Peter smiled. “I’m gonna put the milk on for hot chocolate!”

“I’ll help you,” Wanda offered quietly, smiling.

She set her load on the floor by the bar entrance and grabbed a pan for Peter, absently swishing a ball of red light around her fingers.

“Wear something green tomorrow for Christmas,” Peter suggested with a smile. “With your red light, you’ll be super Christmas-y.”

Wanda laughed quietly, her eyes twinkling. “That would be quite a sight.”

Peter was glad to see Wanda in better spirits. When she’d first moved in, he’d been pretty worried about her, but she was doing a lot better now. Vision had helped a lot with that, Speaking of…

“Where’s Vision?” He asked, pouring a generous helping of milk into the huge pot, grabbing the hot chocolate mix from the counter.

“Shopping, if you can believe it,” she responded, looking amused. “He was insistent on buying his own presents this year, since I went shopping for him last time.”

Peter snorted. “That’ll be fun.”

“Oh, _don’t_ tell me you climbed all the way up there to put that tree topper on, Tony,” Pepper’s characteristically worried voice filtered into the room, and Peter grinned. “I swear, after last year—”

“It was Peter!” His dad defended, glancing at Peter as he bounced into the room, eyes settling on Pepper. “He used his sticky powers to suck the joy right out of Christmas. You’re a Scrooge, Peter!”

Peter laughed and all but tackled Pepper, who startled before embracing him. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said, squeezing him. “Oh, you’re bigger every time I see you.”

“Hi Pepper,” he said, grinning ear to ear. “I’m so glad you could come home this year!”

She laughed. “Yeah, well, if your _father_ —” she said with a pointed glance in his dad’s direction, “—would sign the things I ask him to sign and go to the things I ask him to go to—”

“Pepper, seriously, honey—”

“—then maybe I’d be able to come home more often—”

“—okay, you know, I _offered_ to take you to Fuji just the other day—”

“—and see you.”

“—complete and utter Grinches, both of you. Don’t know why I let you in my Tower, you just—suck all the holiday spirit out of everything.”

“Ya know, Dad, I _did_ see a big stack of papers on your desk the other day…” Peter said suggestively, hugging Pepper again. “Maybe she’s got a point.”

His dad blinked. “My own family, conspiring against me on _Christmas Eve_. I’m returning your presents, effective immediately. Rhodey—”

“Nope,” Rhodey said, shaking his head vehemently as he walked carefully around the tree, situating the tinsel. “Leave me out of it.”

Steve laughed, picking up a box of ornaments. “No working on Christmas, guys. December 26th, though, you’re on your own, Tony.”

His dad sighed, and Peter smiled, having mercy on him and giving him a hug. “I’ll sit with you while you work, you know. It won’t be a prison sentence.”

His dad patted his head with a huff. “So you say.”

The bantering continued, and Peter rushed back to check on his hot chocolate to find Wanda stirring methodically, a smile on her face. “Lively as ever.”

Peter grinned. “Wouldn’t be Christmas if it wasn’t!”

Peter hops onto the counter and sits, watching Wanda work. “Are you excited?”

Wanda tilts her head, considering. “Last year was…very difficult, to say the least. Not having Pietro.” Peter nodded. He could see how it had affected her not to have her brother. “But this year…I don’t know, I think it’s going to be much better.”

Peter smiled. He hoped so.

…

His first Christmas with his dad was almost a disaster. However, as with all Stark disasters, Pepper Potts saved the day.

He was only six, and it was his first Christmas after his mom and dad (or, who he’d _thought_ was his dad) had died. He’d only been living in the Tower for a month, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with his new dad just yet.

He remembered being six years old, curled up in his bed, crying for another morning after waking up and realizing his mama wasn’t there, and wasn’t ever going to be there again.

Two quiet knocks sounded at the door, then Mr. Stark—no, his new dad—walked in. “Hey, Peter,” the man said quietly, with an uncomfortable smile. “How’re you feeling?”

Peter just buried his face in his pillow and stayed quiet.

Shifting, his new dad came to sit hesitantly on the bed. “Buddy, what can I do? I want to make you feel better.”

Peter hugged his pillow. “I want my mama.”

His new dad sighed, putting a heavy hand on Peter’s head and tousling his hair. “I know, buddy. I know, and I’m sorry.”

Peter hugged his pillow tighter.

“Hey, it’s almost Christmas,” his new dad said, forcing cheer into his voice. “What do you think you want? Hm?”

Peter shrugged. He wanted to go back to sleep, where he could dream of his mama and daddy. Was that bad, though? Wasn’t this man supposed to be his new daddy? It was confusing; he’d loved his old daddy.

His new dad sighed. “You can think about it, but you only have a couple more days. I wanna make sure you have a good Christmas.”

Peter nodded hesitantly, turning on his side and opening his eyes cautiously. “You’re gonna be here?”

He’d never been alone on Christmas. He really, really didn’t want to be alone this year. He wanted his mama and daddy to be here, but…he knew that couldn’t happen, so maybe his new dad would help him feel better, at least.

His new dad smiled wide. “Of course! We’re gonna have a bunch of presents, and make pancakes with a bunch of whipped cream and chocolate chips. And hot chocolate, of course. Do you like hot chocolate?”

Peter nodded, his eyes lighting up a little at the prospect.

His new dad smiled again. “Good! I’ll get a bunch just for you.”

Peter smiled, hugging his pillow again. He missed his mama and daddy, but…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad without them. After all, his new dad didn’t seem so bad.

…

Tony slammed the receiver down, pinching the bridge of his nose.

This was…a disaster.

He’d been called away to Hong Kong for an emergency SI meeting, and it was December 22nd. He had no idea how long he’d have to stay.

And he’d promised his kid—his _son_ —that he’d be home for Christmas.

God, that still sounded so weird.

He had to be home. He couldn’t—he couldn’t screw up with this kid. He’d screwed up so many things over his life, and this was something he absolutely could _not_ afford to mess up.

Not this precious little child that someone decided to give to him. With his curly brown hair that reminded him of Mary, and the soulful brown eyes that made it seem like he was looking in a mirror. He couldn’t mess this up.

Three sharp raps on the mahogany door was his only warning before Pepper Potts strode in, clipboard in hand. “Good evening, Mr. Stark. Merry early Christmas. As per usual, I have 8,011 documents for you to sign—”

“Not—not for a second, Ms. Potts, I’m brainstorming,” he said, his muscles moving automatically as he poured himself a finger of whiskey. The glass touched his lips before he remembered.

There was a six-year-old kid waiting for him just a few floors away.

Sighing, he put the glass down and shoved it towards his PA. “For you. Merry Christmas.”

Pepper smirked cautiously, but didn’t reach for the glass. “How…gracious.”

“So. Professional opinion.” He sighed. “Hypothetically, if you had promised someone important that you’d do something, and then something you had no control over popped up and made you unable to keep that promise, what would you do? Thirty seconds, go.”

Pepper blinked, giving a nervous laugh. “Uh, well—I’m not entirely sure of the circumstances, Mr. Stark, but I’d do everything possible to make sure I kept my promise to that person. What’s going on, if I might ask?”

Tony considered. He really wanted that whiskey now. “You’ve been with me for…what, ten years now? Eleven?”

Pepper nodded, counting. “Eleven in a couple of months. Why?”

“So, you can keep a secret.”

Pepper looked at him with nothing short of dumbfounded contempt. “With all due respect, Mr. Stark, eighty percent of my job for you is keeping secrets that I could go my whole life without knowing.”

Tony laughed, looking down. This woman was something else. “Yeah, true. I should give you a raise. Shouldn’t I? I should. Jarvis, put that on my to-do list.”

“Done, sir.”

Pepper looked pleased, but didn’t comment, so Tony continued. “My point, that I have been elusively hinting at for the last, oh, forty seconds, is…I can trust you. Right, Virginia?”

Pepper blinked again, lips parted in surprise at his uncharacteristically serious tone and use of her first name. After a moment, she said, “Yes. You can trust me.”

Tony nodded, like he’d known the answer all along, and said, “I need…a favor. Off the books, off record, no one can know.”

Pepper stiffened. “I’ve heard that before.”

“No, it’s nothing illegal, I promise,” Tony said quickly, hoping whatever he’d asked her to do in the past to evoke that reaction hadn’t been _too_ horrible. A big raise, then. “I need—a…well, a—a babysitter.”

Pepper smiled incredulously, looking amused. “That was a good one, Mr. Stark, you almost had me.”

Tony didn’t laugh. After a moment, Pepper’s smile faded, and she sighed. “Do _not_ tell me I’m going to be spending my holidays cleaning up another PR scandal—”

“No, just…uh…watching my son?” Tony said tentatively.

Pepper stared, dumbfounded, for a good ten seconds, before sighing. “It frightens me to think that’s not the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard you say.” But he could hear the agreement in her voice.

Tony Stark was utterly indebted to this woman, and he was just starting to realize it.

…

“What?” Peter asked, hugging a stuffed animal close to his body and sitting cross-legged on his bed, eyes wide. His new dad sat in a chair in front of him, looking serious. Peter decided he didn’t like it when he looked serious. “But…but you promised—”

“I know,” his new dad said, his eyes screwed up like he was hurting. “I know, Peter, but I can’t get out of this meeting. I’m going to try really, really hard to be back in time for Christmas morning, okay?”

Peter’s lower lip quivered, but he rubbed his eyes. He didn’t want to cry in front of his new dad again. “You really won’t stay? What if—you just ask them really nicely, and they—”

Peter couldn’t finish, because the look in his new dad’s eyes was enough to let him know that answer.

It was the same look in his old dad’s eyes when Peter had begged him and his mama not to get on the plane, not to leave him alone with Aunt May and Uncle Ben, no matter how much he loved them.

He didn’t want to be alone on Christmas. What if—what if—

“I’m so sorry, buddy, but these people aren’t really that nice,” his new dad said, ruffling Peter’s hair. “I don’t think they’ll let me stay. But I’ll tell you what,” he said, leaning down and patting Peter’s head again, “even if I’m late, we can move Christmas to that day. How’s that?”

Peter bit his lip. Would that be okay? Christmas was the same day every year. Wouldn’t people get mad if they moved it? Hesitantly, he nodded. The idea was too confusing for him to argue with.

His new dad smiled, ruffling his hair again. Peter liked it when he did that.

“I have to go,” he said, pulling Peter against him for a hug. Peter liked his new dad’s hugs, but they weren’t like his mama’s or his old dad’s. He missed them. “But I’ll be back before you know it, okay? Before I go, can I introduce you to a really good friend of mine who’s going to take care of you?”

His new dad hefted Peter into his arms, carrying him to the living room. Peter looked up, confused. “It’s not gonna be Uncle Rhodey?”

Peter really loved Uncle Rhodey. He was really nice and cool and fun to be around, and he always brought him things and was really nice when he cried because he missed his mama and old dad.

“No, but Pepper is really nice, too,” his new dad consoled, stepping into the living room. “Pepper?”

Peter laid eyes on a woman with red hair in an uncomfortable looking suit, standing in the kitchen with a clipboard. She gave him a smile, but she looked nervous. Unconsciously, Peter shied away, burying his face in his new dad’s shoulder.

“Aw, buddy, it’s okay,” his new dad said, carding a hand through Peter’s hair. “Pepper’s really nice. I trust her a lot. I wouldn’t trust you with her if I didn’t.”

Peter nodded, hugging his stuffed animal. His new dad set him down gently and turned him around so he was facing Pepper, who knelt down. She gave him a sweet smile that reminded him a lot of his mama, and she didn’t seem so bad anymore. “Hi, sweetie. I’m Pepper.”

Peter bit his lip, looking down. “I’m Peter.”

“Peter, it’s very nice to meet you,” she said, nodding.

“You too, Mrs. Pepper,” Peter mumbled, backing into his new dad’s legs. His mama and his old dad would be better, but he didn’t want his new dad to leave.

“I gotta go, kiddo,” his new dad said, kneeling and giving Peter a hug. Peter hug his hew dad tight, afraid to let go. “Hey, c’mon now, it’s only for a couple days. I’ll do my best to be home for Christmas. Sound okay?”

Peter nodded and finally let go, biting his lip so he wouldn’t cry.

His new dad ruffled his hair and left, after a couple whispered words to Mrs. Pepper.

“So, Peter,” Mrs. Pepper said, guiding him to the living room. “What would you like to do? Are you hungry?”

He shook his head, hiding his face in his stuffed animal. “Mm-mm.”

“Do you want to watch a show, or color?”

Peter shook his head again, but an idea came to mind. “Can you read to me…please? Uh, Mrs. Pepper?”

Mrs. Pepper smiled. “Of course, sweetie. And you can just call me Pepper. What would you like to read?”

Hopping down, Peter gingerly arranged his stuffed bear so he was sitting snugly on the couch before dashing to his room and returning with a heavy book, giving it to Pepper. “We were reading it together,” he said, in reference to his new dad. He didn’t know what he was supposed to call him to other people. “He put a piece of paper where we left off.”

Pepper opened the book, her eyes widening. “Uh, honey, this is—a textbook on nuclear physics. You don’t have a storybook or anything?”

Peter shrugged, hugging his stuffed bear. “I like science. This book is really cool.”

Pepper managed a smile, but looked concerned, and sighed. “Alright, well…I’ll do my best, okay? I’m not nearly as smart as your daddy, so I’m sorry if I don’t get all the words right.”

Pepper had called him his daddy. Should he call him that, too? “New dad” was kind of a lot, but…but what about his old dad? Wouldn’t he be sad if Peter called anybody else “dad?”

Peter really didn’t want to make his old dad sad.

Pepper started reading, and Peter hugged his bear tight and let himself enjoy hearing all about nuclear fission and fusion, quietly correcting Pepper when she said some of the words wrong.

Soon enough, Peter fell fast asleep on the couch. Pepper stopped reading, glad she didn’t have to try to pronounce those words anymore, and laid a blanket over Peter, sighing quietly.

While this wasn’t one of the most outrageous things she’d ever done as Tony Stark’s PA, it was definitely one of the most interesting.

…

Peter grew to enjoy Pepper’s company, but he still missed his new dad.

Pepper made him lots of yummy things to eat (including chocolate chip cookies that were really good) and they watched some TV together, and she even took him to the park after bundling him up in a coat and scarf and gloves to throw snowballs around. They made a gigantic snowman, and Peter climbed to the top, sitting on its wobbly shoulders.

Pepper took a picture and laughed at Peter’s goofy face, promising to show it to his new dad the minute he got back.

Finally, Christmas Eve rolled around, and his new dad wasn’t home.

Peter sat on the couch in the living room by the fireplace, his legs swinging beneath the sofa, waiting. Pepper came to join him, tugging him against her side. She was in her pajamas.

“What’s the matter, Peter?” She asked gently, concerned.

Peter didn’t want to cry. He’d cried a lot since his mama and old dad died, and he didn’t want to cry anymore. “Pepper, what if he never comes back?”

Pepper started, looking concerned. “What do you mean, honey? Of course he’s coming back.”

Peter shook his head, stubborn tears trailing his little cheeks no matter how hard he bit his tongue to keep it from happening. “But…b-but my mama and old daddy went in a plane and they never came back. Hong Kong is really far away, so…so he had to take a plane. What if he never comes back?”

“Oh, honey,” Pepper said, rubbing Peter’s back when he started to cry. Pepper gently lifted Peter’s sobbing form into her lap, rocking him back and forth. “He’s going to be home any minute. Your daddy’s technology is very advanced, and very safe. He’s a genius, isn’t he?”

Peter nodded hesitantly, sniffling.

Pepper smiled. “So his technology must be pretty genius too, hm?”

Peter nodded again, more confidently.

“And genius technology is usually really safe.”

Peter sniffled.

Pepper threaded her long fingers through his hair, and he really liked that; his mama used to do that for him, and his Aunt May did sometimes, too. “Wanna hear one of my favorite Christmas songs?”

Peter nodded.

And Pepper started singing.

“ _I’ll be home for Christmas…you can count on me…please have snow and mistletoe, and presents under the tree…”_

Peter buried his face in Pepper’s shoulder and relaxed, clutching his bear tight. His new dad _had_ promised…

“ _Christmas Eve will find me where the love light gleams…I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.”_

Pepper had a really nice voice, Peter decided. It was making him sleepy…

“Pepper?” He asked quietly, almost asleep.

She stopped humming and said, “Yes, sweetie?”

“Is Santa gonna grant my wish?”

Pepper hummed. “I don’t know, Peter. What did you wish for?”

“My new dad to be home.”

Pepper took a deep breath and let it out. “We’ll find out tomorrow, honey. For now, get some sleep.”

Pepper started humming again, that same really nice song, and Peter fell asleep in her arms, feeling safer than he had in a long time.

…

When Peter woke the next morning, it was to a gentle hand shaking him awake.

“Pepper?” He asked blearily, rubbing his little eyes.

“Not quite,” a different voice said.

Peter’s mind shot into awakeness, and he opened his eyes wide and looked up to see his new dad sitting beside him, looking awfully tired, but he was smiling and _there_.

“Daddy!” Peter exclaimed, grinning. He didn’t even realize he’d called him that until he was hugging the man’s neck really tightly, not planning to let go.

“Hi, buddy,” his dad said quietly, hugging him back just as tight. “I told you I’d be home for Christmas.”

Peter squeezed his dad’s neck, burying his face in his shoulder. “I’m happy you’re home.”

His dad laughed, ruffling Peter’s hair like he liked. “Me too.” After a second, Tony scooped Peter up against his hip, carrying him towards the kitchen. “I think it’s time to make some pancakes. What about you?”

Peter gave a toothy grin and agreed.

And it was one of the best Christmases he could remember.

…

Peter smiled fondly at the memory, taking the mug of hot chocolate Wanda gave to him.

“What’s wrong, Peter?” She asked, ladling some into a mug for herself. “You’ve been lost in thought.”

“Nothing, just…thinking,” he said, sipping it cautiously. It burned his tongue. “About my first Christmas here.”

“Must’ve been a bit awkward,” she said, smiling.

Peter shook his head, listening to Pepper berate his dad for something else he’d done, and smiled. “Nah. It was…the best.”

Wanda smiled. “I’m glad. Let’s go have another, hm?”

Peter jumped down, readily agreeing. The others who lived in the Tower wandered into the living room, one after another, and some traveled in from out of town just to celebrate the day with them.

There was days when Peter still ached for his mom and his other dad, still mourned them as painfully as he had just after they’d passed…but he’d also found a really amazing family right here, and he was so grateful he couldn’t even begin to express it.

He went straight to Pepper and hugged her again, closing his eyes. “I’m glad you were able to be home for Christmas, Pepper.”

She blinked, smiling fondly and hugging him tightly in return. “You can always count on me for that, honey.”

Peter smiled, then hugged his dad, and watched the rest of his family enjoy the holiday with lots of celebrating, present-opening, drinking, bantering, and just…being together.

Of all the presents Peter got, he decided his family was worth more than anything anyone could ever give him, and he’d never have it any other way.


	6. STAY AT HOME

“This sucks,” Peter whined, looking out the window over the empty streets of New York City. “This is literally the suckiest thing.”

“Ah, cheer up, squirt,” Sam said, ruffling his hair as he passed, book in hand. “It’ll blow over in the next few weeks.”

Peter sighed, turning back to his laptop as Sam settled on the couch next to Bucky, who was flicking aimlessly through channels. Sam made some snide remark about his age when he stopped on a Cold War documentary, and Bucky flipped him off.

Peter typed distractedly, working on a paper for his history class. Everyone was currently quarantined in the wake of the coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic, officially announced a few weeks ago, and Peter was strictly _not_ allowed to go out in the suit. Or at all, for that matter.

Which sucked.

Look, he _got_ it. He knew he had an advanced immune system from the spider bite, so he’d probably be fine, but there was no way he could afford to catch it. Bucky and Steve and Bruce would be fine, but Sam and Natasha, and Clint when he visited, and Rhodey, etc., were still susceptible to the disease, no matter how strong they were. For that matter, so was he.

And his dad could absolutely _not_ afford to get it. He’d had the surgery to remove the shrapnel and the Arc Reactor, but his lung capacity was still decreased and his heart was still weak from the repeated abuse. If his dad contracted the disease, which was horrible for people who already had upper respiratory problems…

God, Peter didn’t even want to imagine the fatality rate for people in his dad’s risk category.

So he got it. He really did, and he wouldn’t go outside until this all blew over.

But it. Still. _Sucked_.

To make matters worse, school had been moved online for the rest of the semester, so he couldn’t do the things he loved most—actual lab experiments (which, yeah, he had a whole lab here, but it wasn’t the same), hanging out with his friends, their little table at lunch that no one else sat at—he missed those things.

So, yeah. He was sitting in his favorite recliner for the nth day in a row, in sweatpants he’d worn for the nth day in a row, working on papers and virtual chemistry labs and miscellaneous assignments, trying not to tear his hair out with the unfamiliar silence from the streets and the overall atmosphere of _boredom_.

“Can we order pizza or something tonight?” Peter asked absent-mindedly, typing away. “I’m kind of sick of leftovers.”

Sam looked at Bucky, who shrugged. “Long as Tin Can’s fine with it. Don’t know if you want the germs coming in.”

“I’ll go down to the lobby and get it when it’s delivered,” Peter promised, excited at the prospect of at least _something_ different in his routine. “I just want some _variety_. You know?”

“Sure,” Sam agreed, absently watching the documentary and munching on some Cheerios. “I wouldn’t mind some takeout, either. Go check with your dad.”

I rolled my eyes, but closed my laptop. “You guys are like strict uncles. You could just give me the green light.”

“And risk another lecture on extended family responsibility from your dad and Mr. Righteous?” Bucky commented, eyebrow raised. “No thank you.”

Peter laughed, hopping to the elevator and descending to the Lab. “Dad?” He called as he punched in the code, opening the tinted glass doors.

“Hey kiddo,” his dad said, face muffled by the welding mask and the raging blowtorch in his hand. “Stand back until I’m finished.”

Peter obeyed, knowing better than to test his dad’s lab rules (conspicuously posted on one of the walls since, as his dad said, he tended to forget). Instead he passed a hand over Dummy 2.0’s head, looking at the scraps of future projects littering the table. Finally, the sound of the blowtorch died down, and his dad turned to him, wiping a line of sweat from his forehead.

“What’s up?” He asked, beckoning Peter forward.

“Can we get takeout tonight?” Peter asked, plopping on his dad’s stool and spinning in a lazy circle as his dad cleared the workstation. “I just want to switch things up a little.”

His dad didn’t speak for a moment, considering. “Maybe. I just…you know, want to be careful.”

“I know, and I’ll douse myself in Lysol afterwards if you want,” Peter said. “Besides, I was just gonna meet the delivery driver in the lobby and go use one of the sanitization stalls downstairs before I brought it up here.”

His dad sighed, relenting. “Fine, I guess that would be okay. Just shower before you eat. It would be dangerous if anybody got sick up here.”

Peter laughed. “I know. I’ll be careful. Thanks!”

His dad smiled, ruffling his hair. “Yeah, yeah. You just don’t like my cooking.”

“I love your cooking. Just not fourteen days in a row.” He’d counted.

“Sam cooked yesterday.”

“Yeah, but it was your recipe.”

His dad sighed, mussing his hair. “Get out of here. I’m trying to work.”

Peter smiled. “I’ll call you when it gets here!”

…

Peter decided on Thai.

He missed hanging out with May. He Facetimed her every few days to make sure she was safe and doing okay, but he missed her homey little living room and his spot on her little couch and how she’d try to cook but burn whatever she made, and they’d end up ordering Thai food.

When he placed the order (which took fifteen minutes by itself, since he was ordering for eight people, some with advanced metabolisms) he sent May’s favorite to her place with Tony’s permission and texted her.

**_We’ll eat it together in spirit_** _!_ He tacked on a ghost emoji for good measure.

She texted back with a heart and a thumbs up, saying, **_Thanks, sweetheart! Can’t wait to see you._**

Peter liked the message and finished up his history paper while he was waiting. Forty minutes later, his cell phone finally rang.

“YES!” He yelled, pumping his fist in the air and sprinting to the elevator. “FOOD!”

Natasha quirked an eyebrow in his direction. “You act like the kitchen’s empty.”

Peter was going to make a face, but the elevator doors shut on him before he could, and he figured that was probably best.

He made the face anyways.

When he got to the (deserted) lobby, a lone man was standing at the door, holding three bulging take-out bags. Peter bounded over, then remembered his dad’s warning, and stopped roughly six feet away. “Hey, I’m here to pick it up. Can you set it down and I’ll come grab it?”

The man, who was wearing a mask, smiled (Peter thought? His eyes crinkled, anyways…) and nodded, setting the bags down. Peter had paid and tipped electronically, so he wouldn’t have to worry about signing a receipt and touching anything.

“Have a nice day,” the man said, and Peter couldn’t help but notice that he sounded congested. To be fair, though, on days Peter went to the terrace to do his homework because he needed some space, his allergies would get the best of him, too. (Apparently not even a radioactive spider bite could kill seasonal allergies.) Maybe that’s why he was wearing a mask, to keep the pollen out. And the sickness and everything, but maybe the pollen was a bonus.

“You, too!” Peter said as he gathered the bags in his hands. He wasn’t too worried. He’d just go straight to the sanitation station, which would get rid of everything on him or the bags.

They were in rooms behind the elevators, used for employees on the R&D floors that worked with more dangerous chemicals or radioactive chemicals. They did the full in-the-suit sanitation on their own floor before they left, then again on the ground floor before exiting into the lobby.

Peter set the bags down and conscientiously pushed the button to open the door with his elbow, toting the bags in after it was open.

He went about the sanitation process, being careful about getting every surface at least twice so he wouldn’t get anyone sick. The smell was downright criminal and it was taking _forever_ , but he knew this was important, so he didn’t rush it.

When he was finally done, he practically bolted into the kitchen, grinning ear to ear as everyone swarmed him for their food.

Unfortunately, absently and unintentionally, he’d scratched his face in the sanitation room. He’d forgotten. It was just half a second of contact.

Of course, that was enough.

…

He noticed as soon as he woke up the next morning.

He opened his eyes blearily to his alarm, feeling heavy and lethargic. A dull headache pounded behind his eyes, as well as in his lower back. Maybe he’d slept wrong?

He grabbed blindly at his phone, silencing the alarm, and threw an arm over his eyes.

His stomach was kind of unsettled. Maybe he’d eaten something bad. It wouldn’t be the first time his shady little Thai place had put him out of commission for a day.

He had his laptop in his room, so he decided to work from his bed today.

He was sure it was just a stomachache from the food. He was sure, but he texted his dad anyways, just to take precautions.

**_Working from my room today. Kind of want some space. Love you!_**

Peter felt bad lying, but it was nothing. He was sure. He didn’t want to worry his dad any more than he had to.

His phone buzzed just a few seconds later. **_Okay. You okay?_**

Peter sent a thumbs up emoji and left it at that, knowing his dad would give him some space. They’d all been cooped up together, after all, and it was only natural for him to want some time.

Peter coughed. And coughed again.

But he was sure it was nothing. His hands started shaking.

Peter decided to open the window. Maybe the fresh air would help. As soon as he stood up, though, the room spun violently, and he stumbled almost immediately. He grabbed onto his nightstand to steady himself, one hand going to his aching head.

God, this didn’t feel like food poisoning.

But it was fine. He was sure of it. He was fine.

Somehow, he wrestled the window open and just laid in bed for the rest of the morning, internally having a panic attack, because this was getting kind of bad. His shaking fingers typed _Symptoms of COVID-19_ into his phone, and he went to cross-reference WebMD and MayoClinic and the CDC’s websites.

The top three were _fever, coughing, and difficulty breathing_.

Some others were headaches, backaches, loss of sense of smell (seriously?), nausea, diarrhea, etc.

Okay. Okay, he only had, like three of those. He hadn’t taken his temperature, but he was sure it was fine. Okay, he felt a _little_ hot, but the air was warming up and his window was open. And he wasn’t having trouble breathing.

Peter stumbled to the bathroom to take his temperature, just to put his mind at ease.

He wasn’t at ease.

“Shit,” Peter muttered, dropping the thermometer into his sink, refusing to believe the numbers. “Shit, _shit_ …”

103.2 Fahrenheit.

Shit. _Four_ of those things.

He normally ran around 100 degrees anyways, since the spider bite. If it was 101, he could have talked himself into it being just a little spike in temperature.

But 103?

_Shit_.

…

Peter noticed the second it became difficult to breathe.

It was an hour or so later, and he was trying to come up with a reasonable excuse to get him out of coming out for lunch. He’d texted everyone who’d come to dinner last night, asking how they were (a normal occasion for days he decided not to come out of his room too much, so hopefully no one would be suspicious) and nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.

He texted his dad last, saying, **_You feeling okay? Want to make sure nothing got in_.**

He waited anxiously, rubbing his temples and coughing into his elbow and really overall _freaking the hell out_.

**_Yeah, I feel fine. Why? Also, lunch is in a few. You coming out, or are you going to stay in your cave_?**

Peter couldn’t even laugh at the joke. He was so relieved. God, if he’d been stupid and selfish enough to want takeout during a pandemic and he’d gotten his dad sick…

Peter had luckily texted May a little while ago, asking if her delivery driver had been wearing a mask. He hadn’t been. So it hadn’t been the same one.

He was worried he’d gotten May sick, too.

Peter sighed. Breathing deeply made him cough. Actually, it made him cough a lot, and it kind of hurt. And when he was done coughing, he tried to take a breath, and it…it felt like there was a ton of bricks on his chest.

_Oh, shit._

Five. Five things on the list.

Shit. Shit. No, no, _absolutely_ not.

He was worried about infecting everyone else. He was worried about infecting his dad. He had to tell them. And he was getting pretty scared and he knew his dad would know what to do.

Shakily he dialed his dad’s number.

It rang twice. “What’s up, kiddo?”

Peter wheezed in a breath, coughing into his elbow. “Um…Dad? D-don’t be mad.”

His dad paused. “Okay. Are you okay?”

“I-I…I don’t think so,” Peter said uneasily, stumbling to his bathroom when his stomach rolled. He could definitely feel the fever now. His body was aching, and he was sweating bullets, even though he was shivering like a leaf. “I think…I think I’m sick. Like, _sick_.”

His dad didn’t say anything for a long minute. Peter could practically _hear_ the wheels turning in his head. Peter had enough time to stumble and fall in front of the toilet just to be safe before his dad spoke again. “Are you in your room?”

“ _D-Don’t_ come in,” Peter yelled, nearly dropping the phone. “I didn’t f-feel sick until this morning, so—so outside should be safe, but _don’t_ come in. If you get sick—”

“I know,” his dad said, voice calm. Peter shut his eyes, trying to breathe. His dad had such a way of making him feel safe, even when he was terrified. “I know. I’m not coming in. I’m being safe. Stay in your room and we’re going to get someone to suit up and come get you, okay? We’ll set up a quarantine in the Med-Bay.”

Peter nodded, trying to take a deep breath and coughing instead, slumping forward. “I-I…it just got so bad s-so fast…I really didn’t think I…”

“I know,” his dad soothed, voice calm and steady. “I know. It’s okay. It’s going to be fine. A lot of people recover with no complications, Peter. We’re going to get you downstairs and start treating you, and everything’s going to be okay.”

Peter wheezed, and he _knew_ his dad heard, and he felt so bad because he must be so worried and so scared, just because…just because he’d wanted Thai food.

“Okay,” he whispered, clutching the phone. “Okay. I-I’m sorry…”

“I know, squirt,” his dad said quietly, and Peter heard the elevator in the background. “It’s okay, kiddo. It’s not your fault.”

Peter put the phone on speaker and set it on the lip of the bathtub, too tired to hold it up anymore. He slumped against the side of the sink, suddenly really tired. “Dad?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“I-It’s…” he paused, coughing, his body shivering violently. “It’s, um…k-kind of hard to, to breathe…”

His dad paused for a second. “We’re coming in just a few minutes. Are you okay to—screw it, I’m suiting up and coming in. Okay?”

“What?” Peter asked, suddenly much more awake. “Dad—”

“FRIDAY can filter the air coming into my suit. I have one of the best filtration systems there is, you know that. I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about getting you downstairs.”

Peter was too tired to argue.

His stomach gave a violent twist and he lurched forward, thinking he was finally going to throw up, but nothing happened.

God, he was miserable.

Two minutes later, the door opened.

“Oh, Pete,” he heard his dad’s metallic, distorted voice, a cold hand landing on his back where he lay slumped over the porcelain god.

“Think m’sick,” he muttered, not lifting his head.

His dad gave a wry chuckle. “I think so too, bud. Got something that might help.”

Peter turned his head wearily, and his dad produced an oxygen tank and attacked mask. “This’ll help, and it’ll filter the air you breathe out so while I’m taking you downstairs, no germs get anywhere else. Sound okay?”

Peter just nodded.

His dad did most of the maneuvering. Peter tried to help, but his clumsy, unsteady fingers mostly just got in the way, so he let them rest in his lap while his dad strapped the mask around his face and messed with the filters, finally turning it on. Peter was glad. Every time he wheezed, his dad’s movements got a little shakier.

“Okay. Feel better?” Peter nodded, closing his eyes. “Good. Let’s get you downstairs, okay?”

His dad picked him up, and Peter felt like a kid again, when he was sick with the flu or something and his dad would carry him around. Holding the heavy oxygen tank with two bionic fingers, his dad carted him and the tank out the door and through the living room, and finally down the elevator into the Med Bay.

“Where’s…ev’ryb’dy else?” Peter slurred, head slumping against his dad’s shoulder.

“I told them to steer clear of the sicko while I carted him downstairs,” his dad joked, but his voice was tense. “Just rest, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

Peter hummed and let his eyes close, listening to the repetitive hiss of the oxygen mask and letting it lull him to an almost sleep. He felt his dad set him on one of the beds and get him comfortable, then he heard Bruce’s voice, and the sounds of machinery being set up.

He only opened his eyes when he felt a prick in his elbow. He looked up to see Bruce putting in an IV.

Bruce wasn’t wearing any gear.

“ _Bruce_ —” Peter near yelled, about the yell at him for not having anything on, but he broke into a coughing fit instead. It passed quickly, but it left his lungs aching, starving for air. His dad’s hurried reassurances barely reached him through the ringing in his ears.

At the end of it, all he could do was lie there.

“I’m fine, Peter,” Bruce reassured, hand on his shoulder. His eyebrows were pinched. “Hulk doesn’t let me get sick. I’m not going to catch anything.”

Peter blearily opened his eyes, trying to convey the most dubious bitchface he could muster.

Bruce quirked a smile. “I promise.”

The dubious bitchface continued, but not as much so.

Bruce fiddled with a dial on the oxygen mask, upping the concentration of oxygen Peter was receiving. It helped. A lot.

He took a deep breath, his chest rattling, and coughed, but it was easier to recover after that. Bruce flicked his eyes to him, his face creased in worry, and pushed something into the IV.

“These are standard antibiotics,” Bruce said quietly. “The hospitals are using them since there’s technically no cure, but they’re your augmented ones. They should help.”

Peter nodded. “I j-just…I just don’t know how it…got so bad so…fast…”

His dad squeezed his hand, his unchanging iron face giving nothing away. Was he scared? Angry? Peter couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said quietly.

His dad squeezed his hand, shaking his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Millions of people are ordering takeout right now and not getting sick. It’s the fault of the delivery driver or whoever exposed him and didn’t tell him. It’s a disease, Peter; hell, no one’s ever really at fault.” He gently flicked the side of Peter’s head, and Peter would hear the smile in his voice. “You just drew the short stick.”

Peter huffed a laugh, but it dissolved into a cough. When he’d recovered enough to speak, he said, “I’m glad it…was me and not…you…”

His dad didn’t answer.

As Bruce worked steadily around him, his dad continued holding his hand, and with the help of the oxygen mask, he fell asleep.

…

When he woke, he heard Bruce and his dad talking about him.

“…thought he’d be immune, or at least the effects wouldn’t be as bad,” his dad’s worried voice, tinged metallic by the mask, said hazily. “Why is it so bad?”

Bruce’s voice responded, small and worried. “I’m not sure. I’ve got a couple different blood tests running right now, and after looking at his cells and his white blood cell counts…Tony, I think his enhanced body may actually be working against him.”

Peter heard the pregnant pause, letting himself gradually ease into awareness as he listened. “What do you mean?” His dad’s voice asked, demanding and afraid.

“I mean, Peter’s so resistant to sickness now because the antibodies he already had have been augmented, along with everything else. His immune system was augmented as well, but it seems like…while his immune system is attacking the virus, there aren’t any antibodies, because he hasn’t been exposed. The T-cells are attacking _everything_.”

“So you’re saying…what, exactly.”

Bruce sighed. Peter didn’t like the sound of it. “I’m saying…it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better, if this continues. His temperature’s rising, his heart rate, blood pressure, and oxygen levels are dropping…this isn’t just a typical case of COVID-19. His body just…has no idea what to do, so it’s attacking everything, even the cells that are supposed to be helping. If my projections are right…he’s going to get really sick unless we can create some artificial antibodies that won’t just wreak even more havoc on him.”

“Dad?” Peter finally said, Bruce’s words properly scaring him into alertness. Peter blindly reached a hand to the side, turning his head in the direction of the voices. His voice had been muffled by the mask, but his dad took his hand almost immediately, still clad in his Iron Man suit.

“Hey, buddy,” his dad said quietly, sitting down beside him. Peter breathed laboriously, relishing the oxygen mask, and tilted his head further towards his dad. “How do you feel?”

Peter considered the question; he didn’t really know how to respond. He felt sick, sure, and breathing was hard, but he didn’t just want to list everything. He wasn’t feeling up to that.

“…heavy,” he said finally, and it was little more than a breathy whisper.

His dad was probably furrowing his eyebrows. He did that too much. He was going to get wrinkles.

“Hey, Pete,” Bruce said quietly, smiling gently. “I’m going to take some blood and run a couple more tests so we can see if any of our antibodies are working, okay?”

“Kay,” Peter breathed, letting his heavy eyes sink closed. “Is…everyone else…?”

“They’re all fine, Peter,” his dad reassured. “We did tests on everyone just to be sure, and everyone but you is negative.”

“Oh,” he said, feeling sleepy again. “That’s good…”

His dad squeezed his hand. “Are you up to eating something?”

The task sounded far too exhausting, but Peter could hear the worry in his dad’s voice, so reluctantly, he nodded. “Nothing…big…”

“Just chicken broth,” his dad soothed.

His dad helped him sit up and drink it, his oxygen mask hanging useless around his neck. A coughing fit nearly had him asphyxiating, but his dad pounded his back until it passed, and Peter was left weak and shaking.

God, he really had never felt this sick in his life. He felt absolutely awful. His dad noticed and helped him lay back down, resituating the oxygen mask over his mouth and nose.

“Don’t worry,” his dad said, pulling a blanket up to his chin as Peter tried to just _breathe_ without coughing. It reminded Peter of when he’d had asthma before the bite. “It’s all gonna be okay, kiddo. We’re going to take care of you.”

Peter believed him. He slipped back under, feeling safe.

…

Peter was mostly out of it for the next two weeks as the virus wreaked havoc on his body. His breathing became increasingly short and wheezed, and the oxygen mask wasn’t keeping up with it anymore. Bruce made the tough decision to intubate and sedate him for three days, in hopes the rest would help his body heal.

His fever went down a bit, but the real thing that did the was Bruce’s synthetic antibodies.

He’d poured over them in the lab for days, he and his dad barely sleeping as they worked to create something that could combat the virus that worked with his specific genetic makeup. Peter was eleven days in and hanging by a thread when they finally found the right formula.

The others had been in and out, one or two at a time, fully dressed in scrubs and gloves and masks. Though Peter was out of it for most of their visits, he appreciated the company.

He came to one day to his dad stroking his hair, now also in the scrubs and mask and gloves and goggles, instead of the suit. His dad smiled behind the mask, his eyes crinkling. “Hey, kiddo.”

“Hi,” Peter wheezed, his chest aching.

“Bruce and I found something that should really help,” his dad said quietly, matching Peter’s volume, speaking gently. “You should start to feel better real soon, buddy. Just hang on a little longer…”

“Mm…” Peter replied, his eyes dipping closed again. “Sounds nice…”

Again, he slipped under.

…

The next day, his fever broke.

When he was lucid enough to recognize his surroundings, he was aware that he felt much, much better. His lungs were still tired, but he wasn’t wheezing anymore, and he realized he was only wearing a nasal cannula instead of the whole mask. He felt more awake and alert, and not nearly as heavy. Glancing around, he saw his dad dozing by his bed, head lolling against his chest, arms crossed. Peter had to smile; he looked exhausted, but at least he was resting.

Peter noticed he had been well and truly quarantined; plastic sheets formed a canopy all around his bed and equipment, with a zipper on one side to allow access. Beyond the tinted plastic walls, blurry forms of the rest of the MedBay could barely be discerned.

He also noticed he’d been de-hooked from most of his machinery, with only a cannula, IV, and oxygen / heart monitor clipped on his finger. He also felt something uncomfortable feeing into his nose, but he couldn’t see it to know what it was.

At that moment, the zipper started opening, and Bruce slipped in, quickly reinsulating the little space. He turned back, and Peter gave him a tired smile. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Bruce grinned, putting a hand on his head and speaking quietly, trying not to wake his dad. “How are you feeling?”

“A lot better,” he admitted, trying to sit up a little. Bruce put a hand on his shoulder to stop him and electrically raised the bed, Peter readjusting himself as needed. That felt better. “What happened… I mean…”

Bruce nodded, sitting beside him. “You…deteriorated really quickly. It was touch and go for a couple days, when we put you on the ventilator…you’d developed pneumonia in one lung, so we had to get rid of that first before we could even think about attacking the coronavirus. Luckily, it cleared up quickly thanks to your enhancement, and I found some artificial antibodies that would help you along after that.”

Peter nodded, thinking. “I was…really sick, wasn’t I…?”

Bruce nodded, his face grim. “You were. But you’re okay now, and that’s all that matters.”

Peter smiled, then scrunched his nose, the uncomfortable feeling back. “Bruce, what’s…up my nose…?”

“Oh,” he said, as if suddenly remembering. “That’s a feeding tube. You were unconscious for a few days, so we needed to get some nutrients in you to deal with your enhanced metabolism. Do you want to try eating something light?”

Peter considered. He wasn’t all that hungry, but he also knew he _really_ needed to eat. “Maybe…?”

“I’ll ask Sam to make you a milkshake or something you can just sip on,” he said, smiling. He ruffled Peter’s hair gently. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. You had us worried.”

“Sorry,” Peter said quietly. “Maybe no takeout next time there’s a pandemic.”

Bruce laughed. “The takeout wasn’t the problem. If it was, we’d all be sick.”

Peter nodded, though he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty.

His dad started awake at Bruce’s voice, rubbing his eyes and looking around. “What…Green Bean, how long d’you let me sleep?”

Bruce laughed quietly, exiting the room. “You’ve got a visitor.”

His dad’s eyes landed on Peter, and after a second of shock, his face lit up. “Peter. God, you had me scared to death.”

Peter grinned, taking his dad’s hand. “Sorry. I’m better now.”

“Uh-huh,” his dad replied, smiling gently and trailing his thumb along Peter’s hairline, looking at his son like he was the most precious thing in the world. “You’re not allowed to do that ever again. And I mean _ever_. Understand?”

Peter laughed, pleasantly surprised that it was easy to do so. “I promise. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, and I don’t want to hear you say that it was,” his dad said sternly, leaning back. He still kept a firm grip on Peter’s hand. “I’ve sterilized your room _completely_ , by the way. And I do mean everything. How the hell long has it been since you cleaned under your bed, by the way?”

Peter looked away, biting his lip. “Um…”

“Yeah, _um_. Trying to clean under there was like trying to cut down the Amazon with a weedwhacker. I needed the mask more for that than I did here.”

Peter laughed again. “Sorry.”

“Yeah well,” his dad griped, squeezing his hand. “I’m just glad you’re better, squirt. Hate to tell you, you’ve got two weeks of schoolwork to catch up on.”

Peter’s face fell at that, and he sent his dad a glare. “You had to ruin the moment.”

“Yeah. That’s my job.”

Peter couldn’t quite keep the smile off of his face at his dad’s teasing, even with the promise of homework. He was really glad everything was going back to normal.

Well. As normal as things could be during a pandemic, anyways.


	7. Girlfriend from Hell

Peter didn’t like her the second he met her.

And really, he felt bad about it. He was really glad his dad had started trying to date. Despite the fact that the Tower was a lot fuller now that the other five Avengers and Steve’s friend Sam had moved in (they’d been there for a little over a year, and Peter loved all of them, though Thor was gone to Asgard a lot) and Uncle Rhodey was always in and out, and Happy and Pepper were around, too, he could tell his dad was kind of lonely.

He’d heard stories from Uncle Rhodey about his dad’s “playboy” history (he still wasn’t sure entirely what that meant, but that’s what the magazines all said), but he’d given up on dating after he’d taken Peter in, and Peter sometimes felt bad about it.

In fact, when Natasha had broached the idea, Peter had been quick to support it.

“You should try dating,” she said suddenly to his dad one day, munching on some chips. She dunked one in the bowl of salsa on the arm of the chair she was curled up in and said, “You spend too much time in here or with blood-sucking socialites.”

His dad looked surprised. “I don’t have time for dating, Romanov. Where the hell did that come from?”

“Wait, that’s a good idea. You should think about it!” Peter said enthusiastically, plopping beside him and getting on his knees on the couch, shaking his dad’s arm playfully. “Come oooooon, it would be good for you.”

His dad raised a dubious eyebrow and couldn’t suppress a placating smile. “You’re my dating couch now, bud?”

“Yeah, and I agree with Nat,” he said seriously. “You’re always at meetings, or with me, or in your lab, or being Iron Man, or sleeping. And you barely sleep. Or go to meetings.”

His dad looked offended. “Whose side are you on, little man?”

“I _just_ said Nat’s,” he said with a long-suffering sigh. Natasha snorted behind him. “But this is for your own good! You deserve to have some fun once in a while, Dad. Please?”

His dad sighed, his eyes suddenly becoming far away. “Dating’s not just fun, Pete. It’s a commitment you make to someone.”

Nat snorted. “Because a one-night-stand requires such a commitment, Mr. Playboy.”

Peter frowned. “What’s that?” He didn’t know what a one-night-stand was. _Or_ a playboy, for that matter.

“Absolutely not,” Tony said, clapping his hands over Peter’s ears and ignoring his surprised outburst, glaring at Nat, who smirked. “He is _not_ going to learn about this from you, and definitely not now. He’s barely twelve.”

“He’s closer to thirteen than twelve,” she teased, looking far too amused. “Most twelve year old boys are doing much worse.”

“I am maintaining his innocence for as long as I damn well can,” he hissed, finally releasing his vise-like grip on Peter’s head, who had been struggling futilely.

“Dad,” Peter whined. “What is it?”

“You are _too young_ to know,” Tony stressed, eyes uncompromising. “And if you google it, I swear, FRIDAY _will_ tell me, and you _will_ be without technology for a week.”

Peter pouted. “This is why all the kids at school call me sheltered.”

Tony’s eye twitched. “Are they mean to you about it?”

Peter shifted. “Not really. I just don’t know what a lot of words mean.”

Tony sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, well…we’ll talk about it when you’re older. Maybe…when you’re thirty.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “ _Dad_!”

“No buts! I have _spoken_ , mister, and I’m not giving in.”

“You changed the subject,” Nat muttered loud enough for Peter to hear, munching on a chip. “

“Oh, _right_!” Peter remembered, eyes lighting up, and Tony silently promised himself that he’d find a way to scare the living daylights out of that woman. “Promise you’ll think about it? Please?”

His dad looked conflicted, but he could see it in his eyes when he finally relented. “Alright, fine. I’ll think about it if it’ll get you to stop worrying. Okay?”

“Okay,” Peter grinned.

Peter kind of regretted that now, as he looked at the woman standing beside his dad, giving him a warm smile that he didn’t quite trust. She _was_ really pretty, with long, shiny blonde hair with light brown highlights, and twinkling brown eyes. She was slender and just a little shorter than his dad, wearing jeans and a nice top with a blazer, and…pumps? Was that was Natasha had called them? Peter hadn’t been paying attention.

“Hi, sweetie,” she said, bending down slightly to greet him. Okay, he was twelve, not two. Come on. “My name’s Elizabeth, but you can call me Beth, if you’d like. You’re Peter?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling tightly in an effort to be polite. Just because he didn’t like her didn’t automatically mean she was a bad person. “It’s nice to meet you. My dad’s said a lot about you.”

She smiled again, long nails trailing his dad’s shoulder. “All good things, I hope?”

“All wonderful things,” he assured, kissing her temple. “Can I have a second alone with Pete?”

“Of course,” she said, sending one more smile his way, heading for the door and into the kitchen.

She was acting kind of…perfect. Not upset at all about being asked to leave, super nice…Peter didn’t know why he didn’t like her. Maybe he wasn’t as okay with his dad dating as he thought.

Tony led Peter to the couch and sat him down. “So? How’s your first impression? I know it wasn’t much, but what do you think?”

Peter knew his dad pretty well, and he could tell that his dad really wanted him to like her. His eyes were waiting anxiously, and his fingers were tapping. So he swallowed, and nodded, smiling. “She seems pretty nice.”

His dad’s shoulders relaxed, and he grinned. “She is. You know we’ve been dating for a few months now, and I wanted you to meet her. I trust her with this, so no worries about pretending to be a temporary ward, or anything, okay? You can just be my awesome kid.”

His dad’s excitement was contagious, and Peter found himself smiling genuinely at the light in his dad’s eyes. If she made him so happy, Peter could ignore his discomfort. He was sure it would go away. “I’m _always_ your awesome kid.”

Tony grinned, kissing his forehead. “That you are. I want you to know, though, that you’re my number one, no matter what happens. This isn’t going to change anything between us—I’m not going to start ditching you for her, or putting her in front of you. _You_ are and always will be the most important thing in my life. I want you to remember that, deal?”

Peter felt his own shoulders relax, and he realized he’d…really needed to hear that. He smiled, pleased to find he wasn’t nervous at all. “Deal.”

His dad smiled, tousling his hair. “That’s my boy. Can she join us for a movie, and then we can all have dinner? You can get to know each other a little bit?”

Peter nodded. “Um…can I still sit by you?”

His dad looked appalled. “Uh, of course. Like I said, nothing’s different. Promise.”

Peter smiled. Maybe he could deal with this.

…

“So, Peter,” Elizabeth—Beth—said after twirling an elegant ring of spaghetti onto her fork. Their eyes met over the table, and Peter realized she looked _really nice_ , and she _seemed_ really nice, and she’d done nothing but _act_ really nice. So why was his stomach turning? “How old are you?”

“Twelve,” he said, stabbing a piece of broccoli. He didn’t know why his dad made him eat this stuff. It felt like eating little trees, and they didn’t even taste good. “I’m in seventh grade.”

“Oh, that’s exciting,” she said, her voice genuine. She sounded really curious about him, like she really cared about these things. “Do you have a favorite subject?”

“Science,” Peter said, perking up at the mention of it. He loved getting to talk about science. “I’m in Earth Science right now, but the teacher’s letting me do some extra Chemistry work, since I like it so much.”

Her eyes widened, impressed. “You must be smart like your dad, then,” she said with a fond glance in his dad’s direction. His gut twisted again, his good mood instantly quashed.

“I like to think so,” his dad said, reaching out to ruffle his hair. Peter blushed, but let it happen.

“So how did you guys meet?” Peter asked, deciding to slyly check out Beth’s intentions. He didn’t want her to hurt his dad.

“Oh, it was the funniest thing,” she said, laughing quietly, looking at her dad. “I was in this little coffee shop working on an article—I’m a reporter, by the way, did I mention that?—and he walked in. Of course, I didn’t know it was _Tony Stark_ ,” she said suggestively, “because he was in a hat and sunglasses and everything. Who were you with—a friend?”

“I was with Rhodey,” he clarified for Peter, smiling. Peter liked seeing his dad happy. He needed to get over whatever he was feeling. “We were trying out the new coffee place I said I wanted to take you to. Which we still need to do, by the way.”

“Right, Rhodey,” Beth continued, smiling amiably. “He was lovely. Anyways, I was so distracted—my deadline was just around the corner, and he walked by me at the same time I stood up, and—well, it was a very undignified moment,” she said, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “I spilled hot coffee on the both of us, and managed to knock off his hat _and_ sunglasses, and of course then, the entire shop was in chaos over the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist,” she said, grinning teasingly.

“Just genius billionaire philanthropist, now,” his dad corrected, glancing over at him. “And no, you’re not allowed to look that word up, either.”

Peter pouted. “But—”

“Nope.”

Peter sighed. He guessed he’d have to find a dictionary at school, or ask Ned, or something. He was _dying_ to know. Was it really that bad?

“Well, anyways,” Beth said, continuing pleasantly, “we escaped out the back with our lives, somehow, and I insisted I get his clothes dry-cleaned. And—”

“And I suggested instead, she could buy me a cup of coffee,” his dad smirked as he took her hand on the table. “And…well, here we are.”

His dad smiled, and Beth smiled, and Peter couldn’t help but smile, too, because his dad looked really happy.

The rest of dinner went well. Peter left after hugging his dad goodnight and telling Beth it was nice to meet her, then retreated to his room to finish his homework.

Peter decided…to trust his gut. She was really nice, and she’d done nothing wrong, and he felt really, really bad, and kind of like this was all in his head. But his dad had always told him that while reasoning and logic was super important, so was instinct.

He’d be keeping an eye on Beth. But he’d need some help.

…

Three weeks later, after he’d seen Beth more and more frequently and the feeling hadn’t gone away (in fact, it had worsened) he finally decided to call in the big guns.

“Nat?” He asked hesitantly, knocking on her bedroom door. She lived on the same floor as Steve, two floors below him and his dad’s floor. Steve was in the gym working out, but FRIDAY said Nat was reading in her room.

She opened the door, looking concerned. He didn’t come to her floor often. “Peter? What’s wrong?”

“Can, um…” Peter said, shifting, tugging on the bottom of his shirt. It was a habit he’d developed when he was uncomfortable. “C-can I…ask a favor?”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded, leading him to their kitchen and sitting him down. “Of course.”

“Can it…be a secret from my dad?” He asked, not looking at her, clutching his pant legs under the table.

Her eyes narrowed further. “That depends.”

“Um…you’re really good at spying on people. A-and getting information on them that they don’t want other people to know.”

She blinked. “Yes, that’s kind of my job, kiddo.”

He took a deep breath, looking her in the eye. She looked worried. “Could you…do, like, a _Natasha_ background check…on Elizabeth? Dad’s new girlfriend?”

Natasha blinked. “Why?” Her eyes darkened rapidly. “Did she do something?”

“No!” Peter said quickly, eyes widening. “No, she hasn’t done anything; she’s actually been really, really nice! In fact, she hasn’t done one bad thing. I just…I’m just kind of worried. I get…I dunno, kind of nauseous whenever I see her. Like I just…have a bad feeling. But I don’t wanna tell Dad because she makes him really happy, and if it’s nothing then I just want to…get over it, you know?”

He looked pleadingly at Natasha, hoping she’d understand. “And I know Dad did one, but you always say yours are better.” He bit his lip, waiting anxiously for her response.

“You want me to put your mind at ease,” she clarified, looking pensive. Peter nodded, looking down. “It’s really normal to feel like something’s wrong when your parent starts dating, Peter. It’s changing your whole dynamic.”

Peter blushed, looking down. “So you think it’s all in my head,” he mumbled.

“I do,” she said honestly, smiling. “But I’m going to check things out, just because you’re my favorite.”

Peter brightened, grinning at her. “You’re the best, Tasha!” He threw his arms around her, hugging her tightly.

She laughed, holding him just as tightly, and said, “And don’t you forget it.” She pulled back, holding his shoulders and looking at him. “It should take me a week to do a really thorough check, so be patient, okay? In the meantime, just try to get to know her a little better, and maybe it’ll get a bit easier. Okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed. A week. He could do a week.

He just needed to know, for _sure_ , that Beth wasn’t going to hurt his dad.

…

The next six days passed without incident, and Peter was a nervous wreck, waiting for Natasha’s results. She’d told him to be patient, but that was getting kind of difficult.

Beth had continued to be absolutely perfect, and Peter was beginning to think there was something wrong with _him_. His dad was the happiest he’d been in a long time, and Peter wasn’t about to ruin that. He really hoped that the background check was clear, even if it made him crazy.

All of the Avengers except Sam, who was visiting his family, and Thor, who was on Asgard for some business, were lounging in the common area, including Beth. She and his dad were snuggled on the couch, watching something on his StarkPad while Peter did his homework at the other end of the couch. Clint and Nat were sharing an armchair, looking at a newspaper article—something about Budapest and an event there? Peter wasn’t sure—and Steve and Bruce were sitting cross-legged on the floor on either side of the coffee table, playing what seemed to be an intense game of chess. Bruce was winning.

“Dad,” Peter said quietly, nibbling on his pencil and nudging his shoulder. His dad took out an earbud, pausing the movie. “Can you help me with this?”

“Hm? Sure, bud, what’s up?”

His dad started walking him through the proper way to conjugate Spanish vowels, and Peter was silently beaming with pride. People often forgot that his dad was good at a lot of other things, not just science and engineering and stuff, and Beth seemed impressed.

“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

His dad grinned, kissing her forehead. Peter thought it was kind of weird they were so…mushy, but he never said anything about it. “I have several hidden talents.”

“Mm…do you now,” she said suggestively, and at that point, Peter covered his ears, unable to take anymore.

“Stop flirting,” he begged, shaking his head. “It’s so weird.”

His dad and Beth both laughed, as did the other Avengers. “You’re not going to mind so much one day, squirt,” Clint said with a teasing smile.

Peter opened his mouth to deny such an outlandish accusation, but at that moment, the call to assemble went off.

Smiles immediately dropped from their faces, and they sprang up, racing for the armory. “Where’s the call coming from, FRIDAY?”

Peter raced with them, squeezing into the elevator at the last second as it started it rapid ascent. The armory was located on the uppermost floor, so they could run to the roof after they were ready and depart from the Jet. “The call is coming from Chicago, boss. Estimated flight time at maximum speed in the new prototype jet is forty minutes. There is currently a hostage situation with the President and several other important officials. It has not yet been released to newscasters, in an effort to keep the area clear.”

Peter thought that was a weird detail to include, but paid no mind, watching everyone rush around, suiting up and grabbing their weapons. Peter watched the suit build around his dad, heart thudding quickly as it always did when his family was about to fly off into danger.

“Sam’s going to fly up and meet us at the jet,” Steve said, hurrying to the roof. “Two minutes, guys!”

“Peter,” his dad said quickly. “Remember all the rules, okay, stay safe, stay away from the windows, don’t—” he stopped, thinking. “Crap. Beth. Um…”

“I’ll explain everything,” Peter said quickly, throwing his arms around his dad’s waist, metal suit and all. “Just be careful and come home.”

His dad hugged him tight, cupping the back of his head for a brief second, and said, “I always will, Pete. Can’t let you down, can I?”

Peter smiled, trying not to show how worried he was. “Bring everybody home safe, okay?”

“Will do, little man,” his dad promised, ruffling his hair gently before sprinting after the others. “Call me if you need _anything_ —”

“I know!” Peter shouted, smiling. “Go save the world!”

His dad disappeared onto the roof, and the rumbling of the jet shook the floor. Sighing, making his way back to the elevator, he descended to the common room, where Beth was waiting, looking nervous. “Peter! Are you okay? What happened?”

Peter realized, suddenly uncomfortable, that this was the first time he’d ever been alone with her. He shifted on his feet, wondering how to respond. “Um…they got a call to Assemble. It happens when there’s a super big emergency they have to go help with. I don’t know how long they’re going to be gone.”

Beth nodded, the pinnacle of understanding. “Of course, Tony mentioned something like that. I never thought I’d see it,” she said, looking bewildered. “Do you want me to stay with you until you get back? I can—”

“No, it’s okay,” he said with a smile, going to grab his books, trying to straighten the room a little from the Avengers’ whirlwind of a departure. “I don’t know how long they’re going to be. My Uncle Rhodey will come stay with me if they’re not back by tonight. Thank you, though.”

She gave him an easy smile, and Peter’s stomach turned again, but he made himself be polite. “Of course, sweetie. I’ll be going, then, okay? Let me know if you need anything; I think Tony put my number in the emergency list somewhere in the kitchen.”

Peter nodded. “Do you want me to walk you down, or…”

She shook her head, grinning. “Very gentlemanly, but no, thank you. I can manage. Have a good night, honey!”

With that, after grabbing her purse and her phone from where it had been charging in the wall, she left.

Peter felt infinitely better.

He took a few minutes to straighten the room, then sat down to try to do his homework, but he couldn’t concentrate. He turned on the news, hoping to see some footage of whatever was happening. Surely by now there would be a story—how could there not be, with the President being held hostage?

“FRIDAY, can you pull up some news about the mission Dad’s on?” Peter asked, expecting the AI to draw up six different channels in the blink of an eye or something, like she usually did. Instead, he was greeted by cold silence.

He blinked, looking up. “FRIDAY?”

Nothing.

That wasn’t good. That—that meant he was going to have a much harder time contacting his dad if anything went wrong.

Putting his homework aside, ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut, he called Uncle Rhodey.

“ _We’re sorry,”_ the stale voice said, and Peter’s unease grew. “ _Your call cannot be completed at this time. Please—”_

Peter hung up and headed for the elevator, pressing the button for his dad’s lab. That place was a fortress. He’d be safe until his dad got back, and he could try to reboot FRIDAY from the mainframe—his dad had showed him how, once, just in case. He’d try that and send a message to the jet, letting them know that something was up, in case they had trouble and needed to use FRIDAY, too.

The doors opened to his dad’s lab, and he put in his personal pin. The doors opened—

\--and there stood Beth.

Peter had obviously caught her unawares. For a moment, they both stood, staring at each other, in utter disbelief. Beth had been hunched over the keyboard, typing furiously, all the holographic screens in the room displaying rows and rows of green code, scrolling down at impossible speeds.

Beth was— _hacking_ the Tower.

He opened his mouth—he didn’t even know what he was going to say—but before he could say a word, Beth pointed a gun at him.

Gone was the kind, amiable woman from dinner, and from the living. Gone was the warm smile and the seemingly genuine concern.

“Get in,” she said in a steely voice, her face utterly cold.

Slowly, shakily, Peter took a step forward, flinching as the door closed behind him.

She walked briskly toward him, and involuntarily he whimpered, taking a step back as she towered over him, grabbing his upper arm when he tried to back away. She dragged him to one of the heavier workbenches, unceremoniously throwing him down beside one of the legs.

He landed with a grunt, his body trembling. He didn’t—he didn’t know what to do. He barely knew what was going on. Was this really the same person?

He hadn’t been crazy. All along, she’d—she’d been playing him, playing his _dad_. Waiting for a chance to do…whatever she was doing.

“Sit up,” she said, still pointing the gun at him.

Slowly, he did as he was told, ending up hunched on his knees, shaking fists at his sides. He swallowed, his throat like sandpaper. “Beth—"

“Quiet,” she said, no room for argument in her steely voice. “Put your hands behind the leg of the chair. _Now_.”

Choking down a sob, biting his lip to keep it from trembling, he did as he was told, wincing when his wrists were roughly jerked together. He couldn’t quite stop the sound of pain that left him as a zip-tie was jerked tight around his wrists, digging into the skin.

“Don’t try anything,” she said, barely sparing him a second glance as she made her way back to the computer, typing away. “I won’t kill you if you don’t give me a reason to.”

Peter gasped, unable to stop it. She—she was really serious. He hadn’t been this scared since—well, since Loki, really.

He spent the next several minutes trying to calm his racing heart, listening to her type furiously. He noticed the phone that had been charging upstairs plugged into the mainframe, similar lines of ominous green code racing down its screen.

“Was this all…” Peter cleared his throat, swallowing again, trying to sound braver than he felt. “Was it all just a trick? Were you just tricking me and…and my dad this whole time?”

“Obviously,” she said immediately, no remorse in her voice. Her fingers clacked on the keyboard, those long nails Peter hated so much not seeming to slow her down in the slightest.

She didn’t say anything further. He didn’t know what to say.

He started struggling against the zip-tie as quietly as he could, but all he really managed to do was cause his wrists to bleed, biting back a whimper as the skin broke. He was trying _really_ hard not to cry, but he was really scared, and he had no idea when his dad would be back. Not for several hours, at least, and nobody knew he was down here.

He started working his hands into fists and then relaxing them, his fingertips numb from the tightness of the tie. In doing so, his finger brushed something sharp, and he felt further, trying to see what it was.

A nail.

Peter almost sobbed in relief, but managed to keep quiet as my managed to hook his fingernail in one of the dips in the spiral of the nail, dragging it slowly towards him to ensure he didn’t lose it. Once he had it safely in his hand, he started working at the plastic as best he could. Luckily, the tip was sharp, and he only stabbed himself a couple times before he managed to get it stuck in the plastic, trying to drill a hole in it with the sharp end rather than saw through it, which was time he didn’t have.

“Um…Beth…” he said hesitantly. He didn’t really want to talk to her, but he had to know. “Is, uh…is FRIDAY working for my dad a-and the others?” She didn’t answer. “He…he needs it to help, uh…regulate his suit. I—”

“Stop _talking_ ,” she snapped, eyes stormy. Peter flinched, taking a shaky breath and quickly looking down. “It’s working fine everywhere but here. Don’t get the wrong idea, kid, I don’t give a damn what happens to you or your father. That’s just so he doesn’t suspect anything going on here.”

Peter breathed a quiet sigh of relief, happy to know his dad was safe, at least for the time being.

He gave it a couple more minutes, consistently working at the tie. His wrists was weeping slowly, now, blood trickling down his fingers. He was terrified his slippery fingertips would lose their grip on the nail, but somehow, he kept hold of it. He felt it starting to sink through the plastic; he was maybe halfway through the thick tie, if he had to guess.

What would he do when he got free? If he ran for it, he’d have to be _fast_ , and he wasn’t sure his shaking legs would carry him. He couldn’t fight her, that was for sure; she had a gun, and she was obviously really well trained. He’d have to surprise her.

He looked around, and saw multiple tools on the tables; thank God his dad never cleaned in here. The closest thing to him was a hefty wrench, which would work well. He’d break the tie, sneak up behind her, and hit her over the head, and hopefully that would incapacitate her enough for him to run away, downstairs, and call his dad from the front desk or something.

He was three quarters of the way through, and he felt the tie giving a little bit under the pressure. He flinched when Beth cursed, face twisted in an ugly snarl as she typed even faster, using words even his dad didn’t use.

Obviously she was having trouble getting through to the actual mainframe; Peter inwardly scoffed. There was no way she could beat her dad’s coding.

Suddenly, the tie snapped. Peter was so surprised he nearly gasped in pain as the nail went deep into his wrist, the divider gone, but bit his lip _hard_ to keep any sound from escaping. A trickle of blood ran down his chin, and more blood ran down his hands.

Okay. Okay, he was free. When she was really focused, really distracted, and had her back to him, he’d grab the wrench and sneak up on her.

_Okay, Peter. Go time. It’s okay. You got this. You’re Iron Man’s son. You can do this._

He got his chance two or three minutes later, when Beth turned quickly to the phone she was using to help her hack everything, opening it and typing something quickly into the keypad.

Peter stood as quickly as he dared, slowly grabbing the wrench off the table, as silently as he possibly could. The computers were beeping, which helped hide his footsteps, but he still stepped lightly, slowly, in her direction.

She was still struggling with the phone, looking intently at the screens in front of her, and Peter used some of the tips he’d learned from Natasha and Clint about how to make your footsteps silent, stepping on the balls of his feet and holding his breath.

When he was just about two feet behind her, he raised the wrench, steeling himself.

She froze, and for a brief second, he realized he’d forgotten about the screens. Their eyes met, reflected against each other in the glass.

In one fluid motion, she’d thrown the phone down, turned, and seized the bloody wrist holding the wrench in one hand, his throat in the other.

His eyes widened immediately, and his free hand flew up to grab at her wrist as he squirmed, trying to get out of her hold. He wheezed a frantic breath as she said, fire in her eyes, “You couldn’t just do as you were told, could you? Damn, this is a _shitstorm_ …”

She squeezed his injured wrist, and the wrench fell from his grasp, clanking loudly on the waxed floor. With an angry grunt, she shoved him back and her fist struck his cheek. He fell backwards, sucking in a breath as he scrambled backwards, bloody palms slipping underneath him, face throbbing.

She stalked after him, kicking him down when he tried to get up to run, shoving his shoulder back and straddling his chest as he desperately fought back.

“Please,” he begged as she let her weight fall on him, his chest shuddering as he attempted to draw in a breath. She pulled a knife from a strap around her waist, under her loose-fitting shirt, and Peter’s eyes widened, his hands shaking as he pushed frantically at her. “Please, Beth, _p-please_ —I—”

“You brought this on yourself,” she spat, holding his throat with one hand to keep him pinned as she raised the knife.

Peter wheezed, one hand clawing at her hand, another raised in a futile attempt to stop the knife. “Th-they’re…g-going to catch…you,” he said breathlessly, in a last-ditch effort to negotiate for his life.

She smirked, then, and Peter preferred it when she was angry. “Hardly. Nothing personal, kiddo.”

Sucking in a frightened breath, feeling it grate against his crushed throat, he shut his eyes, unable to stop the tears. _Dad. Dad, please, please, I need—I need you—please_ help _me—_

And, like a prayer answered, the door from the elevator exploded inwards, debris flying everywhere.

In just a second, they were surrounded.

“Get. The _hell_. Away from my son, you two-faced bitch,” his dad’s voice pounded through the room, commanding and uncompromising.

Peter sobbed, wheezing again, the hold on his throat not lessening. He used both hands to grab at hers, now, but it was locked around his neck, choking him even now.

Beth looked up, away from him, the knife still raised. She coldly surveyed the heroes surrounding her, weapons pointed at her. “Don’t do anything stupid. I could snap his neck in just a second.”

Peter’s feet pushed against the ground as he tried to heave her off, but his legs were spent, as was the rest of him. He tugged on her wrist, a bit more hurriedly, as black spots danced in his vision.

“If you don’t put your hands up and get off of him in the next three seconds,” his dad’s voice boomed, and he didn’t think he’d ever heard his dad sound so angry, not even with Loki, “I’m going to put a bullet through your brainstem. Understand?”

Beth’s eye twitched. She slowly put the knife down beside his head, but didn’t release his throat. “Do I have your promise not to kill me?”

“You won’t get anything but a bullet to the back of your head if you don’t get up right now,” Clint growled from behind her.

The air was tense as Beth looked around, finally realizing she was out of options. Giving Peter a cold stare, she finally released him.

Peter sucked in a breath, coughing and grabbing at his throat as Steve hauled her off of him with a hand in her hair, tossing her away like a football. Peter dragged himself backwards, away from her, away from the blood and the computers and everything, but his limbs were shaking under him, and he didn’t get very far.

That was okay. His dad threw himself out of the suit and onto the ground beside him, grabbing Peter and pulling him into his arms, holding on like the world was pulling at him. “I’ve got you,” he said, whispering into Peter’s hair, rocking him as he cried, clutching at the back of his dad’s shirt as he heaved in breath after breath.

“Shhhh, sh, sh,” his dad said quietly, lips pressed against Peter’s scalp, Peter’s face buried in his shoulder, frame shaking and jolting with each wheezed sob. “I’ve got you. I’m here. I’m so sorry, Peter. I’m so, so sorry, bud. I’m here. I’m here.”

Peter just held on tight and cried.

…

Hours later, when Beth (which wasn’t her real name, surprise surprise) had been carted away by SHIELD and everything medical was taken care of, Peter was dozing on the couch in the common room, his head in his dad’s lap. His dad was running absent fingers through his hair, and he was wrapped tight in his favorite blanket, curled up against him.

“How is he?” He heard Natasha’s quiet voice. He felt his dad flinch, the fingers stilling in his hair, before they continued.

“Shaken up,” his dad said, his voice flat. “He hasn’t been that upset, not since—since Loki.”

There was silence for a few seconds. Then his dad chuckled wryly. “I can’t believe—I really…I really put him in danger like that. I— _shit_. What was I _thinking_ …”

“I’m the one who pushed you to go on a date,” Natasha said evenly, but Peter heard the guilt in her voice. “If you need to blame someone, blame me.”

“No, I don’t blame you, Nat,” his dad said, shaking his head. Peter could feel it. “I was irresponsible, and…I don’t know. She was just…perfect, you know? Which, I guess she had to be, to make this work. I was just…excited.” He sighed. “And…and she almost…”

Peter felt his dad shudder against him.

“But she didn’t,” she said gently. “She didn’t. She fooled all of us, Tony, not just you. I didn’t think there was a thing wrong with her, and I’m the best.” It wasn’t said with pride or malice. Natasha _was_ kind of the best. “She wasn’t the slightest bit on my radar. If Peter hadn’t come to me, I wouldn’t have done any additional digging.”

His dad paused. “I don’t understand why he didn’t come to me. If she made him uncomfortable…I would have broken up with her in an instant, he has to know that.”

He heard, rather than saw, the smile in Natasha’s voice as she said, “You were happy, and he could see that. He didn’t want to ruin it for you. He was happy you were happy, and upset with himself that he didn’t like her.” She paused. “I guess he was just smarter than the rest of us.”

His dad chuckled lightly, sweeping Peter’s bangs off his forehead. “He usually is.”

Peter chose that moment to take a deep breath and blink his eyes open, looking up at his dad. “Hey, bud,” he said, looking down with sad eyes, resting a cool hand on Peter’s forehead. “How are you?”

“Okay,” Peter said, smiling briefly at Natasha, who returned it. Peter sat up, but immediately pressed himself back against his dad’s side, unwilling to be too far from him. “Are you okay?”

His dad smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

Peter nodded, not looking convinced. His voice was rough, and his throat was scratchy. “Um…Natasha, could…I have some water? Please?” He didn’t want his dad leaving.

“Of course, kiddo,” she said, ruffling his hair in passing. Peter heard ice clinking in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” his dad said, putting a hand on his face and tracing the bruise on his cheek. “I’m so sorry I put you in danger like that.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Dad. It’s her fault for being a bitch.” His dad raised a surprised eyebrow. “Hey, you said it first.”

Despite the circumstances, his dad chuckled, sweeping a hand over his hair. “That doesn’t mean you’re allowed to say it. But you’re right, so I’ll let you off, this once.”

Peter nodded, looking away. “It’s not your fault. She was just…awful. It could have happened to anyone.”

“But it happened to you,” he whispered, his eyes dark and far, far away, “and that’s not okay with me.”

Peter didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to you,” he said, hunching his shoulders. “I thought I was being stupid. She seemed really nice.”

“Pete, from now on, I don’t care if it’s the barest thought, okay? You don’t like someone, you tell me. We’ll deal with it from there. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said quickly. He didn’t want a repeat of this. He bit his lip, asking quietly, “How did…how did you know? Be—uh, she said FRIDAY didn’t know what was going on in the Tower.”

His dad got a faraway look in his eyes again, nodding. “Well…that was all thanks to you and your detective skills. Nat got the results from her background check about fifteen minutes after we’d left, and…well, needless to say we turned around pretty quickly. I started a manual override of the Tower from inside the jet to see what was going on.”

Peter’s eyes widened in realization. “That’s why she—she started suddenly having trouble with the program. She got really mad.” He grinned wryly. “Gave me a chance to get free, but…it didn’t do much good.”

“Hey,” his dad said firmly, tilting Peter’s chin to look at him. “I’m so proud of you, kid. You managed to get yourself free and you were going after her. She was older than you, and bigger, and very well-trained, and you handled yourself so well in spite of that.” He sighed, continuing, “But…yeah. I managed to hack into the cameras, and found out where you were, and we came right away.”

His dad gave an ironic smile, shaking his head. “The hostage situation was fake, by the way. Figured that out with one phone call. It was a trick of hers to get us out of the Tower.”

Peter nodded. He guessed that made sense.

Natasha returned then, carrying a glass of water and a milkshake in the other. “Figured you might need it,” she said with a wink.

Peter smiled gratefully, sipping it slowly. It felt great against his aching throat.

His dad breathed out slowly, studying Peter’s face. “I’m sorry. I know you’re not upset, but I’m still sorry.”

Peter shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. Just…promise me something?”

“Anything, kid.”

Peter hesitated, staring into his milkshake. “Maybe…no more dates, for…at least a little while?”

His dad laughed, pulling Peter to his side. “No worries on that, kid. I don’t think I’m ready for that quite yet.”

Peter smiled, feeling relieved.

This had sucked. Really. But he was okay, and his dad was okay, and his family was okay, and that was really all that mattered.

And Beth was a bitch who was going to jail forever, and that was pretty good, too.


	8. Parent (?) Teacher Day

“Hey, Penis!” Flash’s incessant voice was going to give Peter a migraine before the day was out, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. “So who’s gonna be coming to school with you tomorrow? Since it’s, you know, _Parent’s_ Day, I figured that would be kind of hard for you to swing.”

Peter resisted the urge to knock his head against his locker.

Peter knew it was a little weird for high schools to have Parents’ Days, but from what Peter had heard, a group of parents about ten years ago had gotten super upset about something, and this was a consequence. The principal had apparently been conducting a lot of shady business on the side, and withholding a lot of important information from the students and parents about tuition stuff. Peter didn’t get it all, but the old principal had been fired.

Principal Morita (who Peter generally liked well enough, except for that time he let Ross kidnap him from school, but whatever) had been hired, and immediately took steps to improve the transparency of the school administration with the parents, including Parents’ Day. The parents had been appeased, it seems.

“Yeah? Is your butler coming again, Flash?” Ned shot back, and Peter couldn’t stop the curl of his lips. Ned was awesome.

Flash, for his part, took in stride for once. “At least I have someone coming, Leeds. And at least for Peter’s sake, nobody has to see what a screwup he is!”

Flash laughed, elbowing one of his friends and making another unheard remark before laughing, continuing down the hallway towards their next class. Peter shut his locker door, hitching his backpack higher on his shoulder.

“Ignore him,” Ned said, rolling his eyes. “He’s just a jerk. And besides, man, if he knew the truth…”

Peter laughed. “Dude, he’d die.”

“Yeah, for sure. So is May coming tomorrow?”

Peter shook his head, steadfastly trying to keep the disappointment off his face. “She has to work a double shift, and Dad has a meeting in Tokyo. He said he’d come if he didn’t have that, and just kind of act like he was standing in—since, as he put it, I’m his number one intern—but he can’t get out of it.”

Ned’s face looked crestfallen enough for the both of them. “Aw, man. Could you imagine how cool it would be if he actually said hi to me? And you, of course, but you don’t count since he would be there for you anyways.”

Peter laughed again, low in his throat, but it didn’t really reach his eyes. He was glad Ned didn’t see. “Yeah, it would be really cool for you, man. Maybe next year.”

While Ned fantasized about that the rest of their history class, Peter doodled in his notebook, wishing he could skip tomorrow. He wasn’t really excited for all the ridicule and pity he’d get tomorrow, spoken or not, but he didn’t see any way around it.

He sighed. He doubted his dad would let him call out sick, but it was worth a shot.

…

“No, Peter,” his dad said unapologetically, Peter sighing as he recognized absolute disapproval. Yeah. He’d figured. “You’ve already missed too much school, thanks to your spandex-covered friend. I’m sorry I can’t be there, bud, I really am. But you can’t just skip because of it.”

Peter could hear papers rustling through the phone, Pepper’s voice in the background. He knew this probably wasn’t the best time to talk about this, but he was about to go to bed, and it was his last chance to change his dad’s mind.

“Okay, but…but what if I just, like…get sick for just a _day_. And I won’t actually be sick, so I’ll be all caught up on all my stuff by the time I go back to school. I’ll even get ahead. I’ll work all day.”

His dad paused. “You really don’t want to go that badly, Peter?” His voice was worried, and guilty.

Peter shook his head, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to make his dad feel any worse than he already did, but… “I just…I know you have to be at this meeting, Dad, and that’s really, really fine. It’s just…it was usually Uncle Ben who came, and…yeah. I just…”

His dad breathed heavily, and Peter could hear a pause on the other end. “I’m sorry, Pete. I really, really am. He was a great uncle to you, and a great man.” He paused. “Listen…I’ll talk to May, see if I can pull some strings with her boss, and try to get here there. But you can’t miss anymore school. I don’t want something like this to affect your record, okay?”

_Damn_ , Peter thought. _So much for that_. His dad sounded guilty enough as it was, and that wasn’t what he had in mind. “No, it’s okay. I’ll stick with Mrs. Leeds and Ned, or something. She’s super nice.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind—”

“I’m sure,” he cut in quickly. “I don’t want to make May miss anymore work, or anything.”

“Okay,” his dad acquiesced, sounding worried still. “Hey…call me anytime tomorrow, okay? If I’m in a meeting, I’ll try to call you back as soon as I’m out.”

He smiled, feeling a little better. “Okay. Just be careful.”

“Always am,” his dad said with a teasing tone. “Now go to bed. You shouldn’t be up this late, anyways.”

“…it’s like ten thirty.”

“Yep.”

Peter laughed. “Night, Dad. Love you.”

“Love you too, kiddo. Back before you know it.”

Peter hung up and lay back, closing his eyes. Tomorrow would be a long day.

…

“Is anyone coming?” Ned asked as they loitered the hallway by their lockers the next morning, waiting for the warning bell before going to class.

“Nah,” Peter said, succeeding in keeping the disappointment steadfastly tucked away. “Dad’s in Tokyo and May’s working. I was hoping to stick to you and your mom?”

“No problem, dude, my mom loves you. I’m pretty sure more than she loves me.”

Peter laughed. “You think MJ’s mom is coming? I’ve always wanted to know what she looked like.”

“For your information, losers,” MJ’s characteristically bored voice popped up behind them, and Peter turned quickly, not entirely sure he didn’t have a heart attack, “she _is_ coming.”

“Well, we were wondering MJ!” Ned admitted with a grin. “Your stories are funny. We want to put a face to the name.”

MJ smirked, patting Peter on the shoulder as she passed, going down the opposite hallway. She wasn’t in class with them until after lunch. Peter steadfastly ignored the way his skin tingled where she touched him. “Sure. See you later.”

Peter watched her go, taking in her frizzy brown curls pulled back in a ponytail. She was in a nice blue blouse with a subtle flowered pattern, which Peter thought was kind of uncharacteristic of her, but it looked really nice. Her faded jeans had Sharpie doodle on the thighs and knees, some of them really good for being spontaneous. She wasn’t waring any makeup, of course—she refused since most brands did animal testing—but she looked really good without it, anyways.

After a second too long, he looked back at Ned, who was wearing a knowing smirk. “What?” He asked casually, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, trying to play it cool.

Ned raised an eyebrow. “You’re so bad at hiding it. You’re totally into her.”

“What? Psh. N-no, I’m not,” Peter feigned ignorance, closing his locker and walking quickly away. “That would be…stupid. She’s our friend.”

“Such a bad liar,” Ned tsked, shaking his head. The warning bell rang, and Peter winced, the sound overly loud for his enhanced hearing. “I hope we don’t have to do a stupid icebreaker every class. That sucked last year.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, dread pooling in his stomach. He knew it was probably just going to be a normal day, but he didn’t want to have to deal with it anyways. “The parents are already in our classrooms, right?”

“Yeah. My mom made me give her directions to the classroom, like, ten times. She has the worst sense of direction. Besides you, of course.”

Peter scoffed. He opened his mouth to respond, but his senses were soon assaulted with raised voices and noise from the direction of their classroom.

“What’s going on?” Ned asked, eyebrows creased in confusion.

Peter didn’t know, either. A huge group of students were gathered outside their classroom, teachers surrounding them and tying to corral them to their own homerooms. Almost everyone was chattering and whispering excitedly, phones out and up above their peers’ heads, trying to get a shot of whatever was in the room.

“Um…” Peter started, not really sure how to approach getting into the room, and having no idea what was going on.

Mr. Harrington, who was standing in the door frantically trying to keep students from entering the room, caught sight of them in the back. “Geez, guys, come on, make a path…Ned, Peter, come in.”

Haphazardly pushing through the shoving hoard of students, Ned and Peter made their way to the classroom, brushing past their frantic schoolmates.

“Peter,” Mr. Harrington snagged his arm before he could fully enter the classroom, looking concerned. “So…May isn’t coming today?”

Peter blinked, looking surprised. “Um…no. How did you…?”

Mr. Harrington sighed, nodding towards the back of the classroom. “They said they were here for you. They can stay, just…can you ask them to…I don’t know, convince the kids to calm down?”

Peter blinked again. “Um…I don’t know who—” He said, turning around to glance at the back of the room towards the whispering parents, who all had their eyes on a group lounging in the back, a good five feet radius around them, giving them an untouchable air.

“Oh my God.” Peter couldn’t stop the words falling from his lips.

Leaning against the back wall, looking absolutely calm in the midst of the utter chaos surrounding them, were Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers, and Bucky Barnes.

Steve was flicking his nervous eyes around the room, going for a disarming smile as the students and parents gawked at him. He was in a tight t-shirt that left nothing to the imagination (I was sure that was Natasha’s idea) under a windbreaker and cargo pants, one of his dad’s high tech watches on his wrist for communication.

Bucky, conversely, was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, wearing tinted sunglasses that completely hid his eyes. He was in jeans, a V-neck, and a baggy camo jacket, a glove over his left hand to hide his metal arm. His hair was pulled back and secured in a short ponytail, probably to keep it out of his way.

And then, of course, there was Natasha. He curly red hair was up in a ponytail at the top of her head, shades over her eyes like Bucky. She was sitting on the counter at the back of the room that usually held extra textbooks, which had been shoved to the side. Her ankles, clad in dark leather boots that stretched halfway up her shins, were crossed. She was in a burgundy turtleneck and black jeans, scrolling through something on her phone as she lounged between Steve and Bucky.

At his words, even thorough the chaos, all three of them heard him, looking up and smiling.

Peter, at the eyes of his classmates, felt heat flame in his cheeks and neck, no doubt going absolutely _red_ as the three heroes conspicuously started towards him as he stood frozen at the front of the room.

“Oh my God.” Apparently he was stuck on that setting.

“Hey, kiddo,” Nat smirked, giving him a hug. Mechanically, he returned it, still too incoherent to form real words. “You’re going to catch flies like that, Peter.”

“I…” He started weakly, looking to Steve and Bucky for help.

Bucky took off his sunglasses, folding them and hanging them from his shirt. “Sorry. I think we caused a fuss. Bruce said to tell you hi; didn’t want to come for obvious green reasons, and Clint’s on his farm. Wanda and Vis said hi, too.”

“Uh…I…I mean, what are you _doing_ here?” Peter asked, finally able to form words. “I…May, a-and…”

“Mr. Stark,” Steve said the words pointedly, so his classmates could hear—they didn’t know Tony Stark was his dad, after all— “asked us to come since he heard May wouldn’t be able to. He wanted to come himself, but he had a meeting. Personal Avengers intern shouldn’t have to be alone on Parents’ Day, after all.”

Steve ruffled his hair at the end, giving him a knowing smile, as Natasha said, “And of course, best Frappuccino maker in the Tower.”

Peter had to laugh as Nat echoed his dad’s words. He did make damn good Frappuccinos.

It was…it was _fine_ that they were here. It wasn’t a secret, or anything, that he knew the Avengers now, since his class had taken the field trip to the Tower, but the kids who hadn’t gone (the majority of those in the school) heard the rumors and didn’t quite believe them, for obvious reasons. So he was sure the entire student body was shocked with…this.

“Oh, uh…” Peter started, looking back at Mr. Harrington, suddenly very much aware of all the eyes on him. “My teacher wants to know…if, uh…you could help him calm everybody down a little? I don’t think…anyone was expecting this.”

“Of course,” Nat said smoothly, slipping soundlessly to the front of the room, propping her shades on her head to gaze at the sea of chattering kids, going silent at her approach. “Good morning, Midtown. Unfortunately, we’re here for our friend Peter for Parents’ Day, as none of his relatives could make it.”

“ _Oh my God,_ ” Peter whispered, resisting the urge to crawl into one of the cabinets in the back of the room and die there. She didn’t need to _announce it_. Bucky put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“That means, as much as we appreciate that you want to talk with us and appreciate your support, we won’t have much time for that today. Do your teachers a favor and run along to your classes, alright?”

Giving a smile that was just the right amount of sweet and dangerous, Natasha shooed them off, popping her sunglasses back in place and swinging the door closed as the tardy bell rang, giving Mr. Harrington a pat on the shoulder. “That should be alright. You think so, Roger?”

Of course she knew his homeroom teacher’s first name. Mr. Harrington looked three seconds away from fainting. “Um…yes. Th-thank you.”

Nat gave him a smile and sashayed back to the three of them standing in the front of the room. “I think you may have gone a little overboard,” Steve whispered as the three of them trekked back to the back of the classroom.

Natasha smirked. “Overboard is my default setting, Rogers.”

Peter, dumbfounded, trekked to his seat, sitting down like a robot.

Ned hit his shoulder insistently as Mr. Harrington tried to collect himself, faint noise still coming from beyond the door. “Dude. Why didn’t you tell me they were gonna be here?”

“I didn’t know,” he admitted. He risked a glance back at them, and received two encouraging smiles and a nod (Bucky was obviously uncomfortable with all the attention he was getting).

“Okay, well,” Mr. Harrington said, adjusting his tie. “That was exciting. We’ll start now. First of all, welcome to all the parents and family members and friends who were able to join us. We’re very happy to have you here…”

Mr. Harrington droned on for a few minutes before transitioning to start the class, but Peter’s mind was anywhere but on his studies.

They’d really…come for him. Because his dad knew he’d be so upset after this day without his Uncle Ben that he’d asked three _Avengers_ to come.

_You’re so extra_ , he texted his dad under his desk. _Thanks_.

His dad sent back a winking face.

Peter held in a snort, steadfastly ignoring the constant whispers that accompanied him through class.

…

“So…I’ll take those introductions,” Ned said as soon as the bell rang, nodding to the back. “Introduce me. Right now. I want to meet them.”

Peter laughed, not able to hide it at his friends excitement. “Don’t you have to go see your mom?”

“She’ll come. _Don’t_ go anywhere.” He hurried off to get his mom, dragging her towards the heroes in the back as Peter made his way to them, backpack heavy on his shoulders.

“You guys are really conspicuous,” he said with a smile as Bucky dropped an arm around his shoulders, still scanning the classroom for threats. Peter didn’t know what for. Maybe he thought somebody was going to attack him with a mechanical pencil, or something.

“That was the idea, kiddo,” Nat said with a wink. “And besides. This way, nobody can say your internship isn’t real anymore.”

Peter cringed. “Did Dad really tell you guys about that?” He kept his voice down so his classmates wouldn’t hear him. They knew about Flash, but he didn’t think they knew that it was the general consensus.

“Of course he did. He was worried, and we were too,” Steve said, disapproval on his face. “I wish you would’ve talked to us, we would’ve come sooner.”

Peter laughed. “Yeah, that would’ve gone over well.”

“Peter,” Ned’s voice popped up behind him as he shifted expectantly. Peter glanced at him in time with the other three, and Ned obviously overcompensated for his ability to remain functioning when faced with Avengers (as he usually did) because he went pale and still and silent, his mom’s hand on his shoulder as she tried not to laugh.

Peter, in respect for his friend, managed to choke down a laugh. “Guys, this is Ned, my best friend since…forever, I guess. Ned, this is Nat, Steve, and Bucky. I see them a lot since I’m the personal Avengers intern.” Of course, Ned knew all this, and his family _knew_ that Ned knew all this, but for the sake of his classmates’ prying eyes, he explained.

“Uh…hi…name…uh, N-Ned…” Ned stammered, blushing spectacularly. He blushed almost as well as Steve.

“Hi, Ned,” Steve said, sticking his hand out. “Thanks for taking care of Peter for us.”

Ned looked at the offered hand for a full six seconds before finally taking it. “Hello, Mr. Captain Steve Rogers America, sir, uh, you’re amazing.” Cue significant blush intensification.

Bucky nodded in greeting from behind his shades, his arm still draped around Peter. “How do you do this every day?” He muttered, looking around. “It’s like being surrounded by five-year-olds.”

Peter snorted. “You get used to it.”

“Very nice to meet you, Ned,” Nat said, and Peter really should have expected this, but she was having _way_ too much fun. Her voice was a low purr, the kind she used to woo unsuspecting men into obeying her every command. He loved her with his whole heart, but sometimes, she was terrifying. “Peter’s said a lot about you. You’ve been a wonderful friend.” She punctuated the statement with a smile, but Peter could see it was more of a smirk.

“Oh,” Ned managed, eyes blown so wide Peter worried his eyelids would get stuck. He’d seen a video of that, and it was gross. Mrs. Leeds pressed a hand hard over her own mouth to keep her laughter contained.

Before Ned could say another word, Mrs. Leeds swooped in to save him. “It’s nice to meet you all; I’m Mrs. Leeds, Ned’s mother. I didn’t know you all and Peter were so close; he’s wonderful, we love having him over.”

The adults continued to exchange pleasantries until the warning bell for their next class rang, and Peter was acutely aware of the hundreds of eyes that followed _him_ , Puny Parker, as he was trailed by three of the world’s most awesome superheroes traveling to his next class.

“So, we just follow you around all day?” Bucky asked, looking around. “Doesn’t seem too hard. Stark made it seem like it was a HYDRA invasion.”

Peter laughed. “He’s never liked these things. He said he’d come if he could, but he doesn’t like dealing with other adults in situations like this.”

“I can see why,” Nat muttered.

Peter was kind of dreading the next class, because Flash was there and Ned and MJ weren’t. Plus the teacher wasn’t overly fond of him, because it was History, and he really didn’t like History (unless they were talking about Bucky or Steve, but that wasn’t until like WWII, and they were only on the Civil War).

Peter was surprised when he walked in to see Flash talking excitedly to his dad in the back. Peter was sure his butler or someone else would come, but apparently Flash had pulled out all the stops today. His dad seemed disinterested, scrolling through his phone and nodding absently.

They kind of repeated the process of stares and whispers and an onslaught of phones directed at them, and Peter blushed brilliantly again, leading them to the back of the room where the parents were milling about. “Um…this is History. I don’t like this class, so don’t tell my dad if I’m not paying attention.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Education’s important, Pete. Even the subjects you don’t like.”

Peter smirked. “You sound just like your PSAs.”

Bucky snorted into his hand as Steve blushed, looking away. Peter had been quick to tell all the Avengers about the horrid PSAs they were forced to watch in all his classes, and it had been a running joke when Steve said something even remotely PSA-sounding.

“Well,” a new voice said behind him. “Look at this. How lucky we are to be graced by the presence of such…heroes.”

The sarcasm in the voice was unmistakable, and Peter turned to see Flash and his dad. Flash was wearing a smug smile, though he looked unnerved by the presence of the Avengers. Flash was a fanboy through and through, no matter what his exterior insinuated, but he’d heard that his dad, a hefty public figure, didn’t approve of them. He supported the Accords and thought that the Avengers did more harm than good.

Peter bristled, feeling his family do the same behind him. Nat smiled, and Peter knew instantly that she was on edge. “Lucky, indeed. To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“Nathaniel Thompson. I own the Thompson Law Firm. Very popular in the North East, but we’re always expanding.” He gave a smile. With his thin, wire-rimmed glasses, he looked intelligent, Peter thought, but that didn’t mean much. His skin was dark like Flash’s, his suit expensive and neatly pressed. Peter had no doubt there was a BMW somewhere in the parking lot with his name on it.

“Didn’t I read an article about some scandal in the upper echelon of that firm?” Natasha asked, cocking her head with a seductive smile. “Very interesting read. Heard it put a complete halt on expansion until at least a couple years down the line.”

Mr. Thompson’s smile became strained, but he straightened, clearing his throat. “If we’re talking about interesting news articles, I’m sure you’d take the lead. Sokovia was only a short few years ago.”

Bucky flinched behind them, Steve’s eyes narrowing in anger. “Sokovia is behind us. We’ll never forget what happened there, but we’ve done a lot of good work for the good of the world. That’s more than I can say for someone like you.”

Flash, who was standing planted behind his dad, was looking a bit…well, unsure of himself. Obviously he’d wanted to show off his bigshot dad to Peter, regardless of the Avengers’ presence, but it doesn’t look like he’d been counting on this.

“Um…why don’t we all just…get along for today?” Peter offered weakly, looking at his family. “I mean…it’s only a few hours. Right?” He glanced at Flash, hoping to see some kind of agreement.

Mr. Thompson looked down his nose at Peter, and he fought the urge to shrink. He was Spiderman, for crying out loud. This guy had nothing on him. “And you are?”

“Um…Peter,” he said hesitantly. “Peter Parker. I…intern with the Avengers, so…they came because nobody else could.”

“Hm,” he said thoughtfully, adjusting his suit and putting a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I see. Well, a charity case is one way to improve one’s media image, I suppose.”

Peter couldn’t quite hide the flinch.

Bucky looked on the verge of murder, and Steve looked to be on his way. Natasha, though, just smiled calmly, directing her eyes at Flash. “So. Peter tells me you want to go on a date with me.” She cocked her head, considering. “And if I remember correctly, you’re the one who thought it was okay to hit Peter in the face in the bathroom, on your field trip.”

_Oh, shit_ , Peter thought, remembering when Flash had joked in Decathlon practice that if he really interned for Tony Stark, he should get him a date with Nat. Peter had thought it was funny, and told her so.

He regretted that now.

Flash, for his part, opened his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open without any sound. His dad looked less than pleased, giving his son a thin, disapproving stare.

Nat didn’t wait for an answer, though, taking off her sunglasses and getting right in Flash’s personal space, giving him her sweetest smile. “If you want to go on a date with me…or if you want to mess with Peter…you obviously don’t know a lot about Black Widows. Or about me.”

Staying in his face just long enough for Flash’s knees to wobble, Nat smirked, replacing her sunglasses and sending Flash’s dad a cold stare. “You’d do well to remember that as well, Nathaniel. You wouldn’t want to find any more… _unsavory_ scandals on the front page of the _Times_ , would you?”

Peter didn’t think he’d ever loved Nat as much as he did in that moment.

Nathaniel didn’t look as pleased.

“If you think for a _second_ —”

“Okay!” Peter said quickly, stepping in front of Nat in an effort to defuse the tension. “Um, yeah, I think, um, Ms. Flowers really kind of wants to, uh, start class because she um looks kind of upset, so…maybe just, like stay on opposite sides of the room, and, uh, don’t make eye contact…I’m gonna…go sit down.”

Peter’s teacher, as well as all the other parents and students, had been eyeing the interaction with quiet excitement, some filming while others simply watched in apprehension. Peter slunk to his seat and tried to ignore the burn in his face.

Though, as class finally started and the tension settled down, he couldn’t help but smile. He had a good family.

…

The rest of the day passed pretty well, despite everything. The Avengers and Flash’s dad steadfastly ignored each other in the other classes they were together in, and lunch was really fun. MJ’s mom was actually pretty cool—she was obviously very opinionated, like MJ, but she was also really nice. MJ had her hair.

At lunch, the parents / family members could sit with their kids; lunch was more staggered to accommodate all the extra people. Luckily, MJ, Ned, and I were still together, and our families all sat together. MJ and Natasha hit it off when MJ asked to interview her for a sociology project in which she had to cover three influential women in history. Natasha blinked, obviously surprised (well obviously to those who knew her) and agreed with a gracious smile, looking pleased.

When the day finally came to an end, Peter was exhausted, but happy. He enjoyed being able to go to class without slinking quietly, knowing no one was behind him. He enjoyed being able to show off his family, even if he couldn’t introduce them as such.

There were optional teacher office hours after school for any parents or guardians who wanted to talk about their kids’ grades, but Peter did _not_ want them to talk to any of his teachers. The last thing he needed was the Avengers finding out how much he slept in class and telling his dad.

“Well, we survived,” Bucky said, bumping Peter’s shoulder with a small smile. “Wasn’t that bad.”

Peter laughed. “You kidding? I thought you were going to go into Winter Soldier mode a couple times.”

“In any case, it was exciting,” Steve conceded, leaning against the railing in front of the school. “Happy said he’d pick us up. Do you want to grab anything before going back to the Tower? You know, for intern things, since you wouldn’t have any other reason to be there?”

Peter wondered how Steve had managed so long as someone who’d had to do a couple (very few, but a couple) undercover gigs, when he really liked to supply obvious information in a completely fake way. He smiled really wide, and his eyes looked around without any direction, and he spoke slowly and clearly.

Peter snorted, and Nat rolled her eyes. “God bless, Rogers. If you’d like to make it a little more obvious, I’m sure Stark could make you a banner.”

Steve blushed, and Bucky laughed, relaxing finally. “He can’t lie, Nat. It’d break his righteous little heart.”

Steve weakly tried to defend himself, but there was no getting around it. Peter laughed, trying to reassure Steve, but Nat just made another comment, which Bucky wholeheartedly supported. When Happy finally rolled up with the transport van (since there was no way the five of them would fit in a sports car), Peter had seen hundreds of phones turned their way and hundreds more whispers, but for the first time in a while, he didn’t really care much about the attention.

He was just…really happy to have such an amazing family.

And watching as Flash and his dad pulled out in a flashy BMW, not speaking, while he and three laughing Avengers crawled into a black van with worn tires that desperately needed replacing, and had more dents and dings than his dad could probably count…he felt even luckier.


	9. Anything but Him

**Warning: a naughty word. For all you eleven- and twelve-year olds who lied about your age to get on this site, don’t repeat it.**

“On your left, Sam!” Steve shouted, throwing his shield to intercept the bullets speeding towards the nose-diving hero. “You really need to watch that side!”

“Cap, I _hate_ you,” Sam shouted, banking left hard to get rid of the guy who’d shot at him. “I think I might actually shoot you if you say that to me one more time.”

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Peter mumbled into the comms from his spot on the roof, where he had, again, been relegated to lookout on a nearby rooftop because it was too “dangerous.” He was seventeen, _God_ , his dad should’ve let him participate in active missions by now.

“Don’t worry. The married couple is just having another spat,” his dad reassured him, firing his repulsors at another group of mercenaries to the south. Sam, Steve, his dad, and Peter were the only ones on this mission, since it wasn’t very big. Hulk hadn’t been needed, and Nat and Clint were on a different assignment for SHIELD. Also, Viz and Wanda were on a getaway in Scotland, so there weren’t many others to call on. Bucky and Rhodey had elected to stay at the Tower.

“Tony, I’ll kick your ass, don’t think I won’t,” Sam muttered, and Peter laughed. Even though he was just lookout, he was glad to have the chance to come on a mission with them. Maybe once he turned eighteen his dad would be a little less wary about letting him actually participate in, ya know. Fighting.

That wasn’t likely to happen, but whatever.

“Steve, there’s a group of mercenaries coming around the south building,” Peter said, trying to be helpful. “Six in total. Need backup?”

“Thanks for the heads up, Peter,” Steve said, flinging his shield just as they rounded the bend, knocking one flat before he’d even fired off a bullet. “I think we’re good. Tony, air support.”

“Yep.” His dad jetted towards the five remaining mercenaries, firing several rounds at and around them, cornering them for Steve to knock out quickly. Sam finished the remaining ones to the east, and pretty soon, everyone was unconscious and bound up to await SHIELD transport.

Peter swung down from his perch and met the others on the tarmac, hands on his hips. “This was so freaking low level. I totally could have helped.”

“Yeah, over my dead body,” his dad said, the metallic twang of his voice from the suit fading as he stepped out, face creased in thought. “I might have to hop the jet back to the Tower; my suit’s malfunctioning.”

Immediately concerned, Peter walked up beside his dad, looking at the hovering suit. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. FRIDAY just started glitching.” His dad’s eyes were thoughtful, his fingers tapping against his thigh as he considered. “I’ll run diagnostics. It’s probably just a bug in the programming. FRIDAY, maintain sentry mode.”

“Don’t tell me the great Tony Stark has a problem with his tech,” Sam said, landing lightly beside us, his wings folding behind him. “I’m revoking your title of genius.”

His dad flipped him off, and Peter laughed. He watched one of the SHIELD jets settle on the tarmac, wind ripping at his suit, and watched agents file from the dock to round up the mercenaries for questioning.

With a jolt, his spidey-sense buzzed painfully in his head. The smile dropped immediately from his face, and he whipped around, looking for a threat. “Something’s wrong,” he said quickly, feeling the others tense behind him.

“What?” His dad asked, looking around with him. He felt Sam and Steve doing the same. “Did we miss—”

At that second, his neck buzzed painfully, and he was moving before he even knew what he was doing, having seen the threat out of the corner of his eye in his scan.

A sniper, two buildings away on the deserted energy plant’s campus. They’d missed him.

And he was aiming straight for Peter’s dad.

Normally, it would have been no big deal—the Iron Man suit deflected bullets like paintballs. But it was currently hovering useless in sentry mode, leaving his dad completely exposed.

The bullets would hit him right in the chest.

In a burst of desperate speed that Peter didn’t think he’d ever be able to replicate, he threw himself in front of his dad. He couldn’t reach him to push him out of the way. Not from the angle of the sniper and his dad’s position.

But he could reach the path of the bullet.

Sam saw him at the same time Peter did, shooting into the sky like a rocket and filling the man with holes in the next second. The _pop pop pops_ were lost in Peter’s ears through a haze of desperation and the feeling of being punched in the gut, but that was okay. With a backwards glance, Peter could see his dad unharmed, blinking in surprise at the rush of movement around him.

He sighed in relief, and then realized he…really didn’t feel good.

He looked down, eyes widening.

Oh. That was…that was not good.

“Dad?” He said quietly, his voice small and feeble, nothing like the hero he wanted to prove himself to be. His gloved hands hovered fearfully over his stomach, two small holes pumping rivulets of blood from his body. The front of his suit and legs were already saturated with blood, dripping in steady streams to pool around his feet on the tarmac below.

His dad knew something was wrong the second the word left his lips, and so did Steve and Sam. They were behind him. They couldn’t see. They couldn’t—

At that second, the strength left his legs, shock sucking the strength right out of him, and he fell backwards. In a rush, Steve threw himself forwards, catching Peter’s torso and lowering him gently to the ground, eyes widening.

“Oh,” he breathed, taking in the damage as Peter swallowed, the pain distant, but building. “Oh, no. I need a medic!” He shouted at the agents, who’d watched the scene with startled eyes. Peter registered someone beginning to run to the jet, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Dad?” He asked again, and then his dad’s face appeared hovering above him, his hands clasping Peter’s like it was the only thing anchoring him to life. “Dad— _Dad—”_

“Sh, Peter, it’s okay,” his dad assured, face ashen and white as he looked at Peter’s stomach. Peter cried out in pain as Sam dropped to his knees and clamped both hands over the wound, writhing even as Steve tried to keep him still. “Peter? Peter! Look at me, buddy, eyes on me, okay? I’m right here. I’m right here.”

Peter blinked at his dad, waves of agony rolling over him as he felt the pool of blood growing steadily, pumping through Sam’s fingers. Sam was cursing brilliantly, and Peter yelled in pain as the former pararescue leaned his weight on the wounds, apologizing quickly. “I’m sorry, kid, I know, but I gotta stop the bleeding.”

Peter yelled again, writhing in Steve’s arms as his dad’s voice got louder. “Peter! Dammit, open your eyes, kid. I need—I need you to keep looking at me. Okay?”

Peter didn’t often hear his dad sound so upset, so even through the agony ripping his gut apart, he opened his eyes. “Dad—it, it hurts—”

“I know,” his dad shushed, palming the side of his face even as medical personnel flooded Peter’s awareness, switching places with Sam and hurriedly flitting around him. “I know. Breathe, Peter, breathe. I’m right here, bud, I’m not going anywhere.”

Peter grasped desperately at his dad’s hand as Steve’s arms disappeared, foreign arms lifting him hurriedly onto a stretcher. He cried out as his gut pulled in agony from the motion, and his dad squeezed his hand to let him know he was still there.

He didn’t know if he’d been in this much pain since the spider-bite. His gut was burning with every miniscule bump and jostle, and he was distantly aware that his insides were probably all kinds of messed up.

Maybe he shouldn’t have binge watched _Monsters Inside Me_ with Bucky the other day.

“D-Dad…” he said again, white spots dancing in his vision. He felt a needle in his bicep, and another in the crook of his elbow. That sucked, he hated needles. It felt kind of better, though. His stomach wasn’t hurting so much now. “Dad?”

“Right here,” his dad’s voice soothed, and he felt a warm hand trail through his hair, resting on his forehead like when he was little and had a fever. Oh. Had someone taken his mask off? Why hadn’t he noticed that? “I’m right here. You need to stay awake, Peter. Talk to me. What are you working on in school?”

Peter couldn’t fathom why that was so important right now, but his dad’s voice was pretty worried. He couldn’t really remember why. His vision was greying around the edges. Why was that? “Um…S-Spanish…project…” Why did talking hurt so badly? He shut his eyes and whimpered, realizing distantly that it probably made him sound like a kid instead of a superhero.

“What about?” His dad asked, his words becoming more desperate when Peter didn’t respond right away. Peter hated hearing his dad sound so worried. And why was there so much shouting in the background? “Peter? Peter! Look at me!”

Why was his dad being so pushy? Peter was exhausted. He just wanted to sleep. It didn’t hurt so much anymore…maybe he could sleep now.

“M’tired,” he slurred, hoping his dad would get the hint and leave him alone. The shouting intensified, and he winced as he was jostled, but the pain was duller now.

“I know,” his dad soothed. Peter blinked, and through blurry vision, he thought his dad might have been crying. What had happened? Was everyone okay? “I know, but you need to stay awake. Please, Peter, please don’t do this to me…”

Peter blinked again, slower this time. His eyelids were like bricks. He doubted he could keep them open. “Do…what…?” What had he done? Was he in trouble? Man, his dad got so strict when he messed up…that was going to suck.

“Nothing, Pete, nothing, just…just stay awake.”

“I…” Peter started, attempting to state a logical case for why he should be allowed to sleep, given that he felt like he was going to be comatose in a minute, but words failed him. His vision swayed as gray creeped in from the edges, pinpricks of light distracting him from his dad’s worried face. “Sleepy…”

Oh. That wasn’t very convincing, but whatever.

His dad’s shouts became distant, and the background noise all but faded. He felt someone shaking his shoulders as his vision tunneled, the gray creeping in until that was all he could see.

And then from the gray, everything turned black.

…

Two hours later found Tony sitting in the waiting room of the Avengers medical wing, his foot bouncing rhythmically on the cold tile as Rhodey sat beside him. Other Avengers dotted the uncomfortable chairs (God, Tony was a billionaire—could he seriously not afford some nicer chairs?) and those on the mission were on their way back at top speed.

Peter was behind walls of glass and plaster, fighting for his life.

Tony couldn’t stop thinking of the look on Peter’s face as he faded from reality beneath his hands. Couldn’t stop thinking of how he’d clutched Peter’s hand, begging him to stay awake, only for the kid to slip into oblivion all the same. Medics were shouting, running around the speeding jet, spouting words that left him dizzy in panic—

Words like hemorrhage. Words like over a third of his blood lost. On Tony’s hands and on Sam’s hands and on the sizzling tarmac and soaking into the gurney’s sheets. Words like blood pressure dropping, heart rate arhythmic. Words like _coding_.

Tony didn’t realize anything was wrong until Rhodey was grabbing the back of his neck and shoving his head between his knees, stars dancing in his vision as his lungs seized.

“Tony, man, you need to _breathe_ ,” Rhodey’s worried voice ordered, and Tony got the feeling this wasn’t the first time he’d instructed as much. Tony did, because that’s all he could do, was breathe.

Breathe while his _life_ was fighting on a cold table surrounded by strangers.

“Rhodey,” he said shakily, his friend’s fingers still tight around his neck, forcing him to breathe slow. “I—”

“Don’t pass out on me,” he said simply, moving his hand from Tony’s neck to his back in an effort of support. “We don’t need that, man. Peter doesn’t need that. Helen is doing everything she can, and she’s the best, you know she is.”

Tony closed his eyes, breathing shakily as he sat up. “I just…he—”

“Take it easy,” Steve’s voice reached him next, his friend’s hand coming down tight on his shoulder. “Peter’s the strongest kid out there, you know that.”

“It takes more than a strong kid to—to survive a damn bullet wound,” Tony argued, threading his fingers through his hair in anger. “To survive _two_ professional grade sniper bullets to his _gut_ —”

Tony had to stop before he threw up, taking another shaking breath.

“FRIDAY,” he said, standing abruptly and stalking towards the hall, feeling his team’s eyes follow him each step of the way. No one tried to stop him. “Alert me the second there’s a change.”

“You got it, boss,” FRIDAY said softly.

Tony walked aimlessly through the adjacent hallways, never straying too far from the Tower’s medical floors or the OR. The OR that currently held his son.

Tony stopped, bracing his hands on the wall in front of him as his stomach churned.

His son was—his son was dying. His child. His _baby_.

Because he’d been dumb and naïve enough to believe that since all the visible baddies were down for the count, he was safe to take off his suit. During a live mission. With his _son_.

Tony fisted his hands in his hair, taking a ragged breath as he leaned against the wall. “Peter,” he said quietly, shutting his eyes.

His son had seen the sniper before him, and the damn kid—the damn, wonderful, self-sacrificing kid—had wasted no time in putting himself in the way of the bullet.

Tony knew that if Peter hadn’t done that, he’d been dead. With his heart as damaged as it was, his lungs as overworked…there was no way he’d have survived the bullet wounds. Not to mention Peter’s advanced healing.

But the logical consensus had absolutely no place in his terror-ridden mind. He didn’t care if he’d died on the spot, as long as Peter would have been safe. Alive.

“FRIDAY?” He asked quietly. “Anything?”

“No significant change yet, boss,” she said quietly, so different from her normal sarcastic self. Tony hated it. “Dr. Cho is currently working to stabilize his heart rhythms. She’s been repairing the damage from the bullets, but he coded once more. He’s back, but still in distress.”

Tony took a shuddering breath, closing his eyes.

He couldn’t lose Peter. Not—not his kid. His precious child that was absolutely too good for the world, and completely and utterly too good for him. The kid who’d thrown himself in the way of two bullets to save his life and then _asked_ for him like it hadn’t been his fault.

Because it was. He’d taken his suit off, left himself vulnerable, and Peter had paid the price.

“Tony,” Sam’s voice startled him, and he turned quickly, flinching.

“What? Is there news?” He asked quickly, rushing to meet him down the hallway.

Sam’s eyebrows furrowed close together, and he shook his head, letting out a breath. “Nothing yet. I came to check on you.”

Tony blinked, turning away. Should’ve figured the resident therapist would try to weasel something out of him. “I’m fine. Just…catching my breath.”

Sam shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. Tony noticed that he’d changed out of his flight suit, and he’d cleaned himself up—Peter’s blood was washed down a porcelain sink somewhere, pink water dripping down the drain. The image made him nauseous, and he had to swallow.

“You’re hurting, Tony,” Sam said quietly. “That’s fine, but don’t shut us out. This isn’t your fault.”

Tony barked a self-deprecating laugh on instinct, turning away. “Wilson, you have no idea what you’re talking about. Not with this.”

“Yes I do,” he argued, grabbing Tony’s shoulder when he turned away. “ _Hey_. Listen to me, man. I don’t give a shit what you say—if anyone’s to blame, it’s me. Nope, let me finish. Your suit was malfunctioning, Tony. It was hard not to notice with the way you stuck to close to the ground. You couldn’t control that. Steve was on the ground, and Peter was lookout for him—with that being said, _I_ was supposed to be aerial support. It was _my job_ to scope out the rooftops, to check for hidden snipers or aircraft, and I did just what you did—assumed that since all visible threats were gone, we could relax. It was my fault, and I’m sorry.”

Tony scrubbed a hand up and down his face during Sam’s confession, looking at his friend’s hard eyes, feeling his insistent fingers gripping his shoulders. Despite the terror and guilt still pooling in his gut, he knew he needed to address this, if the devastation on Sam’s face was any indication. “Sam, it’s—this isn’t your fault.” Well, that sounded weak.

“Why not?” He asked, dark eyes insistent. “Tell me how it’s not my fault.”

Tony wasn’t in any condition to think this deeply right now. Fisting a hand in his hair, Peter’s terrified face flashing behind his eyes, he breathed shakily. “I can’t—Wilson, why the hell are you doing this _right now_? I can’t—I need to be focused on Peter, I—”

“Give me three reasons.” Sam said again, crossing his arms over his chest. “Seriously, man. Three reason it’s not my fault.”

Tony honest to God almost clocked the man in an effort to get him to shut up and leave him alone. “God, just—give it a rest,” he said, trying to push past him in an attempt to get back to the medical ward.

Sam snagged his elbow, stopping him. ‘Three reasons. You know how guilt eats at me.”

“You’re seriously doing this _now_?” He shouted at Sam, finally snapped and pushing him up against the wall, pinning him with his forearm. Sam winced, but remained otherwise impassive, staring at him with steely eyes. “You’re coming to me and asking me to make you feel better about this? While my _son_ if bleeding out on the fucking table? Are you _serious_?”

Tony was panting hard at the end of his outburst, forearm pressing hard against Sam’s chest, fingers digging into his shoulder. Despite Tony’s exhaustion, his words, and the arm close to his throat, Sam didn’t move. “Three reasons, Tony.”

With a shove, Tony pushed away. “Damn you, Wilson. Screw you. Fine. You had no way of knowing the sniper would be there, you had no way of knowing Peter would get in the way, and you had no way of knowing the day would end in a cluster. Are you _happy_? Do you feel better, princess?” Tony hissed, hands fisted at his sides.

Sam was calm as ever. The only evidence of his irritation was the tightness of his jaw, which loosened significantly when Tony finally answered. Instead of hard and angry, Sam’s eyes softened, and he patted Tony’s shoulder. “Neither did you.”

Tony blinked, his genius mind struggling to understand the significance of the words. “What the hell?”

“You didn’t know either,” Sam continued, taking both Tony’s shoulders in his hands. “You didn’t know the sniper would be there any more than I did. You didn’t know Peter would jump in front of you any more than I did. You didn’t know the day would end in a cluster any more than I did. So if it’s not my fault, then it’s not yours, either. How could it be?”

Tony blinked again, swaying slightly on his feet as his brain struggled to make sense of the words.

Damn him.

“This was…a therapy session?” Tony confirmed, still struggling to make sense of it.

Sam smirked, patting his friend on the shoulder. “Yeah. Of course it was. If it’s not my fault, and you didn’t know anything more than me, not to mention you had a malfunctioning suit, it can’t be your fault. Can it?”

Tony opened his mouth to deny it, to think of a reason that yes, it was his fault that his only child was on a cold table bleeding onto the white tile below, but no sound came out. He had to admit, Sam’s argument was…surprisingly logical.

“That’s…a surprising well-formulated argument,” he admitted reluctantly. “One that…I’ll refute eventually.”

“Sure thing, man,” Sam said, looking decidedly unconvinced. “Right now, let’s go be with the others. Peter’s not going to need you blaming yourself—which you shouldn’t be doing, as we just proved—he’s going to need you to be strong and be there for him. Okay?”

Tony’s shoulders slumped, and he was…too tired to argue. Too worried. “O-…okay. Fine.”

Sam slung an arm around his shoulders, steering him back towards the medical wing. “You couldn’t have changed the outcome, Tony. The only thing you need to worry about is Peter, not whatever irrational guilt you’re feeling.”

Tony breathed slowly, his feet dragging beneath him. Unwilling to admit just how much he need to hear those words, he said quietly, “You’re damn pushy, Wilson.”

Sam laughed. “I know. One of my many wonderful qualities.”

Despite himself, the situation, the stubborn guilt and poignant terror and grief coursing through every fiber of his being, he managed a little smile. “You wish.”

Tony took a breath as they arrived back in the waiting room, feeling a little better. Sam was more dangerous than he’d thought.

…

Peter didn’t know what was happening.

A sharp ringing in his ears drowned out most of the sound surrounding him, but he could distinctly hear frantic shouts that echoed in his head, piercing wails and hurried beeps among the cacophony. He couldn’t open he eyes no matter how hard he tried—they were glued shut. Even so, he could feel people moving quickly around him, gloved hands moving frantically over his pliant body.

What happened? Had he been hurt on patrol? It couldn’t be that bad, could it?

“—blood pressure dropping,” a woman’s voice shouted, following by hurried orders and footsteps. “I need suction here. How many more units of blood?”

“Last one,” an unfamiliar voice responded.

“Damn. Grab some more saline bags.”

As the conversation around him wore on, his other senses came back, too—and that was a lot worse than his hearing. The smell was biting and overwhelming, metallic tangs of blood slamming into the sharp smell of antiseptic. That was nothing compared to the pain, though.

His gut was on _fire_. It felt like his intestines had become tendrils of flame slipping around inside of him, like flaming snakes squirming around. He jerked involuntarily as the pain grew, crying out. The sound was muffled by something over his mouth and nose, but it was enough to get the attention of the people surrounding him.

He wasn’t…he wasn’t hostage or something, was he? Was he being experimented on, or something? That didn’t line up with the worried voices, but…but he was in a _lot_ of pain. Wouldn’t they have given him something to help with that? And where was his dad?

“…ad?” He breathed, the pain overwhelming from just the small action.

“Stay still, don’t talk, Peter,” the female voice said, clasping his shoulder. “We’re going to give you something for the pain, alright? Your dad’s right outside. We’re fixing you up. Just calm down, alright?”

The voice was familiar, and soothing, but the pain didn’t let him think of anything else. He was writhing sluggishly wherever he was, but his usual strength was gone. He couldn’t focus on anything but the all-consuming pain in his stomach, not even long enough to figure out what had happened.

Soon enough, something in the crook of his elbow blossomed, nice and warm, and slipped through him quickly. The pain wasn’t completely gone, but it was duller, now. Dull enough that he could blink his eyes open to see fluorescent lights and people in scrubs.

Everyone in the room was shiny and surreal, and he wondered if he’d abducted by aliens. Maybe. The blue face masks and goggles of could kind be seen aliens.

Oh, well. He let his eyes slip closed as the pain continued to ebb away, wondering when he’d get to see his dad again. He hoped soon. He was probably really upset. He couldn’t remember why, but…he knew that something had happened to make him really upset.

Well, they’d take care of it when he woke up.

…

“He’s coding again!”

That was the shout that greeted Tony as he and Sam made it back to the waiting room, a nurse rushing into the OR.

Tony felt his knees go weak, Sam’s steady grip on his shoulder barely keeping him grounded. Steve was beside him in an instant, helping Sam sit him down. “Breathe, Tony,” he said quickly, looking hurriedly towards the OR doors, which swung shut behind the frantic personnel.

“He…Peter—” Tony managed, barely able to keep his voice audible. He couldn’t—he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t lose him. “Please— _please…_ ”

If he lost Peter…he honestly didn’t know if he’d survive. He didn’t know if his fragile heart could take that. It was thudding painfully now, and he was sure the stress was going to give him a heart attack before he even knew what happened to his child. He was just going to die right here in this chair waiting to find out if his son was going to survive his mistakes.

“Just…calm down,” Rhodey said quietly, but Tony knew his friend well. Rhodey was at a loss. He knew there was nothing he could say to make the situation any better. There was nothing that could be done.

Tony couldn’t even snap at him for the ludicrous request. He couldn’t breathe right. How could he speak?

Images flashed before him, snapshots of Peter growing up too fast right in front of him, and he closed his eyes. Peter standing at the funeral of his parents, staring sightlessly ahead as his aunt clutched his hand and gave Tony a distrustful look that he couldn’t even register, because he only had eyes for the boy in front of him.

Peter laughing at something he’d said in the lab, working on a project of Tony’s that Peter had wanted to help with.

Peter walking into Midtown High for his first day of high school, Tony watching from a few hundred yards away with a proud smile.

And then things that hadn’t happened yet—Peter graduating, walking across the stage in his cap and gown with a bright smile, accepting his diploma.

Peter waiting at the steps of a church filled with people, smiling as a shrouded woman walked down the aisle.

Peter holding a bundle in his arms, laughing and looking up at Tony, who was standing beside him.

Peter living a life worth a thousand other men.

Peter’s life was flashing before his eyes, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“Please,” he breathed, folding his hands under his eyes and feeling his entire body tense in desperation, praying to a God he hoped was listening. “Please. Anything but him. Anything but him.”

_Anything but him. Me, my company, all my money, all my possessions, you can take it all, but…not him. Not him._

 _Anything but him_.

…

Peter blinked slowly, surprised he wasn’t more disoriented.

He was in the MedBay—that much was obvious—and he was hooked up to a hospital’s worth of wires and monitors. He felt more like a circuit board than a patient. A dull ache throbbed in his stomach, but it was manageable enough.

He tilted his head to the side, eyes landing on an empty bed on the other side of the room. On his other side, he found what he was looking for.

“Dad?” He asked quietly, his voice rasping like stones on sandpaper. Swallowing, coughing slightly, he tried again. “Dad?”

The meager increase in volume was enough to jolt the man beside him into awareness, rubbing his eyes. “What? What—”

His dad seemed to come to fully then, because his eyes settled on Peter’s face, and Peter knew that he had scared his dad more than he ever had before.

“Dad?” He asked tentatively, his dad’s wide, shimmering eyes locked on his face. “Are you…okay?” He’d been worried about that before falling asleep. It was the last thing he could remember thinking. Did it have something to do with why he was here?

His dad laughed at that, a wet, thick laugh that Peter flinched at, because it sounded…so sad. “Am _I_ okay? Peter…”

His dad moved from the chair to sit on the bed, taking one of Peter’s hands and holding it tight enough to hurt his fingers, rubbing a gentle thumb along his hairline. “I’m okay, kid. You…you weren’t okay.”

Peter blinked, thinking, but the last thing he remembered was being on a mission with his dad, Sam, and Steve. He was crouched on a rooftop.

“I…” Peter swallowed thickly, the heart monitor speeding up. “I don’t…remember—”

“That’s okay,” his dad soothed, his hand settling on Peter’s head, scratching his scalp lightly. “That’s okay, Pete. It’s totally okay. You’re going to be okay, you don’t need to worry about anything.”

“But…what happened?” He asked quietly, his dad’s expression not making him feel a lot better. “I…”

“The only thing that matters is that you’re going to be okay,” his dad said quietly, kissing his forehead after saying so. “You got hurt, but…but Dr. Cho made sure that everything’s going to be okay. You believe me?”

Peter knew there was more to it, but…his dad looked so worn out, and he was tired, himself. For now, he couldn’t press the issue.

“Okay,” Peter conceded quietly, feeling his eyelids droop. “Okay. I’m just…I’m so glad…you’re okay.”

Tony smiled, brushing the hair back from his son’s forehead as he fell asleep, shaking his head. Of course. Of course, even though Peter didn’t actually remember, he’d still be worried about _him_ and not himself.

Tony sighed. He needed to…buy a church, or something. Maybe build fifty churches across the country or something, but…the thank-you needed to be big. Because obviously someone had been listening.

Someone had decided to save his son, and…and Tony would give just about anything to make sure that decision stuck.


	10. The Pacifier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much for reading, and please drop a review / request! Love you all!

“I’m stealing the squirt for the weekend,” Clint said from the living room as Peter sat at the kitchen table, doing homework.

Peter’s head inched up, intrigued by the conversation. Before he could ask why, though, his dad cut in, “No, you’re not. That’s kidnapping. I’ll have you arrested.”

Clint snorted. “Sure. I need a babysitter, though, and for obvious confidentiality reasons, I can’t just hire the random kid from the grocery store. So, stealing him.”

“That sounds fun!” Peter shouted before his dad could shoot him down again. “I’m not doing anything, anyways!”

“Traitor,” his dad shouted back, but he didn’t sound overly upset.

His dad and Clint came into the room a minute later as he was finishing up his calculus homework, and he looked up, invested. “So what are you and Laura doing that you need a babysitter?”

Clint grinned, ruffling his hair. “Adult secret. You’re too young to know.”

Peter swatted at his hand, pulling a face. “I’m sixteen.”

“You’re always going to be too young to know, mister,” his dad affirmed, glancing at his calculus sheet. “You missed number three.”

“ _Dad_ ,” he whined, resigning himself to redoing the problem. “It’s completion based. I’m tired.”

“You know what else is completion-based?” His dad asked with a raised eyebrow, smirking. “Life. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”

His dad walked away with a pat on his shoulder, leaving Peter dumbfounded. “Seriously? When did you become a philosopher?” Peter shouted after him, angrily erasing his work for number four.

“When you became a fatalist,” his dad shouted back, the telltale noise of the blender drowning out his next words.

When the noise finally stopped, Peter yelled, “Not trying on _one_ math assignment doesn’t make me a fatalist, Dad.”

“That’s how it always starts.”

Peter sighed, reviewing the problem, deciding it wasn’t even worth it to argue. It was one he wouldn’t win, anyways.

…

Clint had picked Peter up from school and taken him straight to the Tower and to the Quinjet, where Peter already had a bag packed.

“Damn, are you that desperate to escape your clones?” Tony asked from the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb as Peter checked his backpack. The last thing he needed was to forget his homework.

“Yes,” Clint replied. “I love them more than anything in the world, but sometimes I need a break.”

“Hm,” Tony mused, ruffling Peter’s hair as he finally prepared to board the jet. “Call me if you need me, squirt. I can be there in like an hour.”

“I will,” Peter promised, giving his dad a hug. “They’re kids, not supervillains.”

“Oh, you poor innocent thing,” Clint said from the opening of the jet, eyebrows pinched in concern. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

Peter laughed, following Clint into the jet. “It’ll be fine. What could go wrong?”

Clint closed his eyes. “God bless your soul.”

…

“Peter!” Lila yelled, running down the steps and throwing herself at him.

“ _Oof,_ ” Peter said, exaggerating the exclamation as he stumbled back in surprise, grabbing her around the waist. “Hey, Lila! Wow, you’re so big! How much did you grow since I last saw you?”

Lila giggled as Peter swung her around, laughing as she was finally set down. “A lot. I’m almost as tall as Cooper.”

“Keep dreaming,” said Cooper taunted as he followed his sister down the steps. “Hi, Peter.”

“Hey, Cooper,” Peter smiled, ruffling his hair. “Man, you’re growing like a weed. You’re definitely going to be taller than me.”

Cooper blushed, shrugging, but he smiled anyways. “Maybe.”

Clint patted Peter on the shoulder, steering him towards the front door. “I think Nathaniel’s taking a nap. Laura and I will give you the do’s, don’ts, and definitely don’ts, and then we’re out of here. Sound okay?”

Peter nodded, giving Lila another pat on the head before continuing in towards the house. “Sounds good. How long will you be gone?”

“We’ll be back Sunday, probably late morning, early afternoon. We just wanted to try a getaway-type thing for our anniversary.”

It was Friday evening, so Peter would surely be able to handle less than a weekend.

“Hi, sweetie,” Laura said, giving him a hug as he entered the farmhouse. Peter loved Laura’s hugs. From what little he could remember, they reminded him of his mom’s. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Peter assured, setting his backpack and duffle bag by the living room doorway. “How’s Nathaniel?”

“Oh, he’s a precious little terror,” Laura said with a smile, laughing under her breath. “He had a bit of a fever this morning, but it’s gone down. We left instructions to give him some Tylenol tomorrow to keep it down, but it should be fine. He may want to sleep with you or Cooper tonight, though.”

“Sure, no problem,” Peter assured, happy the toddler was feeling better.

They went through an extensive list of do’s, don’ts, and definitely don’ts, including but not limited to “definitely don’t let Lila and Cooper channel surf without supervision,” “definitely don’t give Nathaniel any sugar after dinner,” and so on.

“Seriously, it’ll be fine,” Peter assured, all but shoving them out the door when they reconsidered their getaway plans. “They’re all great kids, and I’m super responsible.” Well, maybe that was overselling it the tiniest bit, but Ned often called him the responsible one of the group. He kind of thought that was MJ, but he wasn’t going to deny it. “We’re gonna have an awesome weekend, and so are you.”

Laura took a deep breath, obviously settling her nerves. “I know, sweetie. I just don’t think we’ve left all three of them this long before, you know?”

“I know,” Peter assured her, following them onto the porch. “I’ll be careful, and I’ll make sure they are too.”

Clint patted his shoulder with a smile, but even the Avenger looked a little nervous. “Yeah, I know you will. You need anything at all, call us, okay? I don’t care what time it is.”

“Will do,” Peter promised, laughing a little under his breath as he started coaxing them down the front steps and towards the car. “Come say bye to your parents, guys!”

Lila and Cooper, who had been arguing over who got to use their dad’s practice arrows first, ran over and hugged their parents, wishing them a happy anniversary.

“You’re gonna bring back souvenirs, right?” Lila asked from her dad’s arms, grinning.

“You bet, little missy,” Clint promised with a fond smile and a kiss on her forehead. “Alright. You guys be good for Peter and be nice to each other. Promise?”

“Promise,” the kids replied in unison.

Clint gave Peter one last wave, and Laura hugged the kids goodbye, and they drove away.

“Okay,” Peter said, swinging an arm around each of the kids. “What do you guys usually do on Friday nights?”

Lila and Cooper exchanged a look under his arms, looking up at him with innocent expressions that Peter honestly found a little disconcerting. “Well…since we’ve been good all week, Mom and Dad said we could eat whatever we wanted for dinner,” Lila proposed sweetly.

“And they said we could watch whatever we wanted on TV since we finished all our homework for Monday already,” Cooper added.

Peter blinked, smiling. “You know, that would sound totally plausible…if I didn’t know it’s a trick you use on babysitters all the time.” And if he hadn’t used it on his own babysitters while his dad was away. He thought it best not to mention that, though.

“Oh, come on,” Cooper complained as Peter laughed, squeezing their shoulders as he went inside to check on Nathaniel. “It could happen!”

“What’s plausible mean?” Lila asked her brother when she thought Peter was out of earshot.

Peter smiled. So _this_ was what Clint had meant when he told Peter to be careful. Peter had to admit, he was a little surprised, but he figured he could handle a couple kids for a weekend. He was a superhero, after all.

“Hey buddy,” Peter said quietly, entering Nathaniel’s room to find the toddler awake and looking around with sleepy eyes. “How do you feel?”

Nathaniel looked up, grinning and reaching out his arms to Peter when he got close enough. Peter laughed, his chest filling with warmth when the little kid got excited to see him. “Aw, I missed you too.”

He picked Nathaniel up and set him against his hip, feeling his forehead with his free hand. “Hm. You don’t feel warm, anymore. How do you feel?”

“Ok,” Nathaniel said, tugging on a lock of Peter’s hair absently. “Whewe’s Mommy and Daddy?”

“They went on a little trip,” Peter said, gently bouncing the toddler up and down as he paced the room. Laura said he liked that. “They’ll be back soon, and I’ll be here until they get back.”

Nathaniel pouted for a second, looking around the room. He looked like he couldn’t fathom why his parents weren’t around. Peter was afraid he’d start crying, but luckily, he settled down. “Can I sweep with you tonight?”

Peter assumed he meant “sleep,” and smiled. “Sure thing, buddy. Want to go see what Lile and Coop are up to?”

Nathaniel grinned, nodding. “Will they wet me pway the big kid games with them?”

Peter laughed, exiting the nursery-turned-bedroom into the kitchen, where Cooper was on his toes trying to reach the top shelf. Which, of course, held the good stuff—Oreos, chips, candy bars.

“Man, Cooper, I left for three minutes,” Peter said, laughing when the boy jumped at his entrance.

“Don’t tell Dad,” he said immediately. “Lila told me to.”

“I did not!” The little girl denied emphatically from the kitchen table, where she was rifling through her backpack frantically. “Gimme back my sparkly pens! I need them for homework.”

“I thought you finished your homework,” Peter said with a raised eyebrow, situating Nathaniel in the high chair and strapping him in.

“Why would I want your girly pens?” Cooper asked indignantly, his voice steadily rising in volume. “They’re stupid! I didn’t take them.”

“Hey, hey, now—” Peter started, trying to diffuse the situation.

“They’re not stupid, you’re stupid!” Lila cried, stomping her foot on the ground and rising from her seat, fuming.

Nathaniel, watching the tennis match with wide eyes, began to sniffle.

Oh. Maybe this was what Clint was talking about.

“ _Hey_ ,” Peter said a little louder, acutely aware of Nathaniel beginning to cry behind him. “Your parents left ten minutes ago, and they’re going somewhere to have fun and be together. Do you really think I want to call them when they probably aren’t even on the highway yet and tell them you’re not being nice to each other?”

Peter really hated to be the bad guy, but he didn’t want to have to call Clint and Laura so soon after they’d left. Or at all, really.

His words had the desired effect, at least, and Cooper shoved the toe of his shoe into the kitchen floor, looking down. “I guess not.”

Lila was a little more difficult, crossing her arms and looking away, but she eventually surrendered. “Fine.”

“Good,” Peter said, pulling them closer to face each other and kneeling between them, patting their shoulders. “Now apologize.”

“What for?” Lila asked, and Cooper had a similar expression of dismay on his face.

“Lila, you called Cooper stupid,” Peter clarified, trying to sound disappointed without sounding angry. Man, parenting sucked. “Cooper, you called Lila’s pens stupid. And you both yelled at each other.”

Lila stuck her bottom lip out, but shrugged. “Fine. I’m sorry I called you stupid.”

“I’m sorry I called your pens stupid,” Cooper said, still looking angry. “But I didn’t take them!”

“Then why don’t we look for them?” Peter suggested. “You too, Cooper, so I can make sure you don’t try to eat the pantry again.”

Lila giggled and Cooper blushed, mumbling that he was going to check upstairs.

…

They were expertly hidden in the front pocket of Lila’s backpack.

“Lila, what do you say to Cooper?” Peter asked, yawning. He’d been tasked with checking the hard-to-reach places up high, which involved a lot of crawling on the ceiling and entertaining intermittent acrobatic requests from the kids.

“Sorry I got mad at you,” she admitted, hugging her pens to her chest.

Cooper shrugged. “Whatever.” Peter let it go. Cooper didn’t look mad anymore, anyways.

“Okay,” he said, clapping his hands and patting Nathaniel’s head, feeling dread in his stomach as he saw that the cheerios had made their way into every crevice of the toddler’s outfit and all over the floor. “Okay, well…guess we’ll clean that up, and then make dinner. What do you guys want?”

Dinner turned into an adventure. Peter wasn’t a bad cook, but Lila insisted on helping, which almost gave Peter ulcers from how much he was worried she’d hurt herself. Or him.

She had a thing for waving around very hot pans.

“Why don’t you go help Cooper set the table and I’ll finish up?” He said to Lila, carefully taking the pan of burning chicken from her little hands. “Thanks, kiddo.”

Peter had to admit he was having fun, even with the many surprises the kids had dealt him in the last couple hours. He caught Cooper in the pantry reaching for the Takis again, and he found Lila messing with the parental controls on the remote, which nearly sent him into a panic when she accidentally switched it to…some specific pay-per-views.

Luckily, the channel was currently on commercial, and he had some unorthodox methods up his sleeve. He webbed the remote to the ceiling as punishment after locking the TV on Animal Planet.

The spent the night playing some board games, Peter and Nathaniel teaming up so he could play the big kid games. Apparently, Peter sucked at Monopoly, despite the fact that his dad was one of the most successful businessmen in the world.

When it was finally bedtime, he checked on Cooper (and webbed the Gameboy conspicuously hidden under his pillow to the ceiling in the living room, next to the remote). He checked on Lila next, who insisted he help her choose her outfit for the next day. Apparently, he had, quote, “an atrocious fashion sense.” Well, he could live with that.

Finally, he went to Nathaniel’s room, gently picking up the sleeping toddler to take to the pull-out bed in the living room, where he’d be sleeping.

“Petew…” The toddler said sleepily, rubbing his eyes. “Wead me a stowy?”

It was well past the kid’s bedtime, but Peter smiled, patting his head. “Sure, I guess a quick story wouldn’t hurt.”

At Nathaniel’s request, he grabbed a book from the shelf in his room, reading a comedic rhyming story about a giant pumpkin that kept rolling down hills and destroying everything in its path. Nathaniel giggled at the rhythmic sequences, his eyes drooping by the end.

“Night night, Petew,” he said sleepily, curling up on the bed at Peter pulled a threadbare blanket around his bunched-up little form. “Wove you.”

Peter stopped, eyes widening, and swore he was going to melt. He could actually feel himself melting into a puddle at the sheer level of _cuteness_ from this kid.

“Love you too, buddy,” he said quietly, wondering if this was what it liked to have kids. If so, it was awesome. Weird, and hard, but awesome.

…

Peter was awoken a few hours later by a noise from the front door.

His spidey-sense buzzed quietly in reaction to the noise, and he quickly glanced at Nathaniel, making sure he was okay before proceeding. The toddler was sleeping soundly, curled up under Peter’s arm. Gently extracting himself from the blankets and the toddler’s death grip, he slid to the edge.

He slipped silently from the bed, his heart racing as he padded towards the front entrance from the back of the living room, wondering what he’d find. Was one of the other kids trying to sneak out? Was someone trying to break in?

Or worse, had one of Clint’s enemies discovered his haven?

Peter would absolutely not let that happen.

Resolve settling heavily in his stomach, he reached into his backpack and fixed his webshooters on his wrists, as quiet, hushed voices reached him. At least two people, then.

He slunk right to the edge of the doorway, hiding himself in the shadows, and waited, his hands shaking. He had to intercept them before they got upstairs, to the kid’s bedrooms, and he couldn’t let them find Nathaniel in the living room.

He wouldn’t let anyone touch these kids, no matter what happened.

He took a shuddering breath, preparing himself, and struck.

Just as he did, aiming a well-placed web-net at the larger of the two figures, planning to take the biggest threat out first, the light flicked on.

His eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness just in time to see Clint’s form hit the wall, securely encased in Peter’s webbing.

Laura gave a yelp of fright, dropping the suitcase to her feet as Peter yelled, “Holy sh—crap! Oh my God…”

Unable to fathom the scene in front of him, Peter dropped into a crouch, holding his head in his hands as the adrenaline rushed to his toes. “Oh, thank God, it’s just you…holy shit…I thought someone was breaking into the _house_ …”

A moment of stillness settled over the dumbfounded trio, Peter’s heavy breaths the only things audible.

Finally, Laura gave a nervous little laugh, glancing helplessly at Clint. “Peter, sweetie…it’s fine…it’s just us.”

“Yeah,” Peter breathed, sitting down in the foyer as his heart calmed, Clint struggling against the webbing with a scowl on his face. “Yeah. I got that. I’ll…get the solvent.”

“Do that, please,” Clint said from his scrunched position against the wall, sighing resignedly as Cooper and Lila thundered down the steps.

“Holy crap, what happened?” Cooper said halfway down the stairs, now very awake. Peter heard Nathaniel start crying, and Laura quickly went to comfort the child as her older kids stared at scene. Peter swore they were trying not to laugh.

“Watch your language,” Clint said, pausing. “Man, now I sound like Cap. Everything’s ten-four, kiddos, Peter was being awesome and protecting the homestead from malicious invaders. Or, us.”

Lila giggled sleepily, and Laura came back at that moment, bouncing Natheniel on her hip. “We’re fine, kiddos. Go back to bed.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until Sunday,” Lila said, voicing Peter’s question as he retrieved the solvent from the bottom of his bookbag, uncorking the bottle and pouring a few drops over the webs covering Clint.

“Well, we decided to come home early,” Laura said cryptically, looking tired. “Just wasn’t as much fun as we thought it’d be.”

Peter thought there was more to it, but he was too tired to worry about it.

Clint and he tore away the last bits of webbing, and Clint stood, stretching out his back with a grimace. “I’m getting too old for this.”

Peter huffed a breathless laugh, still buzzing with leftover energy. “Sorry I webbed you to the wall. I seriously thought you were an intruder. I promise it wasn’t revenge for the time you put clingfilm in my door two years ago.”

Clint laughed despite the situation, brushing the remains of the webbing from his shoulders as Laura chuckled beside him, watching the two older kids trek back upstairs, trailing behind them with the sleeping toddler in her arms. “Clint, you’re impossible.”

Clint shrugged, eyes twinkling.

“Um…so is everything okay?” Peter asked, worried now that he wasn’t terrified.

“Ah, yeah,” Clint said with a tired smile, scooching the luggage out of the doorway with his foot. “Sit with me for a minute?”

Peter followed Clint onto the front porch, sitting beside him on the polished swing. The air was sticky with humidity, the faint calls of cicadas and coyotes dotting the otherwise quiet night.

“How were they?” Clint asked, eyes dancing with mirth. Peter has a feeling he knew exactly what his kids had been up to.

Peter chuckled, yawning. “Great. Ridiculous. I webbed the remote and Cooper’s game-boy to the ceiling, and we almost had World War III over some glittery pens. There may or may not be Cheerio dust under the fridge, and I think I might have accidentally webbed the pantry door shut after Cooper’s fourth attempt on the Takis. Also, Lila’s wearing a glittery silver tie and a fedora tomorrow. And she likes waving hot frying pans around.”

Clint blinked, then exploded in short bursts of quiet laughter, trying not to rile up the kids within earshot. “Holy shit, Pete, I didn’t think they’d be that bad.”

Peter laughed with him, glancing up at the sky beyond the covered front porch. Peter loved Clint’s farm. It was in the middle of nowhere, to the sky wasn’t shrouded by the oppressive glare of the New York lights. He liked looking for the constellations. “They were interesting, but they weren’t bad.”

Clint didn’t speak for a moment, and Peter felt his eyelids growing heavy as he continued to search the sky for galaxies.

“We came home because we realized we’d much rather be here, dealing with our little terrors, than away from them and worrying about them during our whole anniversary,” Clint said, nudging his shoulder. Peter glanced at him, and Clint smiled. “At the end of the day…I don’t know if we’ll be able to let them go to college, honestly. I just…was to keep them here forever.”

Peter smiled. “My dad says that too. Maybe you guys can form an Avengers Dad support group.”

Clint chucked, looking tired, but happy. Relieved. “Maybe. Tony’s a handful, but…he’s a good dad.” He nudged me again. “Must’ve been, to raise you.”

Peter’s chest swelled with warmth, and he threw Clint a sleepy smile. “You’re a good dad, too. They’re awesome kids.”

Clint laughed, his eyes far away as a slow, proud smile spread over his face. He gave a breathless chuckle, glancing towards the screen door. “They sure are.”

Peter smiled. Clint was a great dad.

His dad would always be the best in his mind, but Clint was pretty great, too.


	11. I Won't Say I'm in Love

“Hey, loser,” MJ said, leaning against the wall of lockers as Peter switched out his books. “Take me home with you after school.”

Peter blinked, the textbook slipping from his fingers, sticky as they were, to thud against the linoleum floor. “Uh…”

MJ glanced at the book and rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Parker, you can climb walls. How do you drop so much stuff?”

“MJ, keep your voice down,” Peter said quickly, picking up the book and shoving it in his backpack. “Um…why did you…?”

“I have a sociology report, and I want to interview some of the Avengers, if they’re around. It’s about how human society has evolved under different types of leadership. I figured some first-hand perspectives would be cool.” She looked down in an uncharacteristic display of nervousness, and shifted, shrugging a little. “I mean…if that’s something you think they’d do. Ms. Romanov seemed cool about it when I asked, but…you know.”

Peter blinked, and was…suddenly and inexplicably disappointed. He quickly shoved the thought down, shaking his head as if to physically scramble his thoughts. “Uh, yeah, totally! Let me just…text my—uh, Mr. Stark. Make sure everything’s okay.”

MJ raised an eyebrow, looking around, then rolled her eyes. “We’re literally the only people in the hallway.”

Peter, after a second of hesitation, looked around. The hallway was eerily quiet. He almost expected a tumbleweed.

“…right.”

She sighed, then smiled a little. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

Peter felt heat flame in his cheeks and quickly looked away, shrugging on his backpack. “Uh, totally. Um…you can ride with me after school.”

She nodded, smiled a little, and left. Her curls bounced as she walked away.

Peter shook his head again, closed his locker door, and tried to figure out how he was going to do his calculus homework in the next five minutes.

Definitely not about how pretty MJ’s curly hair was.

He smacked himself in the face.

…

Peter’s fingers tapped nervously as he waited out in front of the school for MJ.

Happy was waiting at the curb, so he texted him and informed him that he was waiting for MJ. Happy, in an odd display of paternal concern, asked him if he’d gotten his dad’s permission to bring a girl home. Peter blushed crimson and typed furiously that no, he hadn’t, because she was just a friend who needed help with a project. He’d decided not to, trying to delay the inevitable teasing for as long as he could.

Happy sent the flat-face emoji that looked remarkably like his own on some days, and Peter buried his face in his hands.

“What’s wrong?”

MJ’s voice startled him out of his embarrassed musings, and he sharply rounded on her, almost falling backwards down the steps. “Nothing! Uh…just thinking.”

MJ looked unconvinced, but just adjusted the straps of her bag, glancing at the black car with the tinted windows on the curb. “Is that us?”

Peter glanced at the car. “Uh—y-yeah. Yeah.”

She nodded. “Cool.”

Peter led her to the car and let her get into the backseat first, then slipped in beside her, closing the door. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Peter saw Happy’s eyes stare interestedly into the mirror, and met them. “I’m Happy.”

MJ glanced at him, and Peter noticed the slightest furrowing of her eyebrows. “Um…I am too…?”

Peter choked on something between a sound of surprise and a laugh, dying for a couple seconds.

Happy just blinked, frowning. “No. My name.”

MJ blushed. Peter didn’t see that very often. “Oh. I’m Michelle.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Peter couldn’t even say anything to rectify the situation.

The entire drive was made in long, awkward silence, and Happy left the divider down the entire time.

…

“Um…we can go to me and my dad’s floor first,” Peter said in the lobby, swiping his internship badge through security, procuring a guest pass for MJ. “I think he’s in his lab, though. Then I can call the others.”

MJ nodded, and though she tried to look bored, Peter could see the curiosity on her face as her eyes swept the bustling lobby. “You really live here?”

Peter nodded, pushing the button in the elevator for the penthouse. FRIDAY knew it was him, so he didn’t need any extra verification. “Uh-huh. My dad and I live on the top floor, and Pepper when she’s home. The Avengers live spread out on a couple floors below us, and the floor below ours if the common area and kitchen.”

MJ nodded. “You think they’ll…be okay talking to me?” Peter glanced over at the uncertainty in her voice, not used to her sounding so…well, timid. “I mean, I know they’re…probably busy, you know.”

“Yeah, I think they’ll have time,” Peter said, wracking his brain for any scheduling conflicts he somehow missed. “Unless New York gets attacked by aliens again, or something.”

Finally, she smiled a little, and Peter’s heart jumped.

Ugh. He really needed to get over this.

The elevator dinged and slowed to a crawl, then settled gently as the doors opened. Peter walked in and put his backpack down on the kitchen counter, glancing back at MJ. She walked in slowly, her eyes trailing the spacious living room and kitchen, finally settling on the view.

“Wow,” she said simply.

“Yeah. It’s pretty awesome,” Peter admitted.

“My math may be a little off, but I’m pretty sure you could end poverty in the United States with this building’s net worth,” she commented idly, running her hand over the back of the couch, still watching the skyline.

Peter blinked. “Um.”

MJ took out her laptop, making herself at home on one of the high chairs at the bar. “I can do the introduction and stuff now if you need to find them. Sound okay?”

“Uh—totally, yeah. My dad’s I think in a meeting in his lab, but I’ll call him once he’s done and let him know you’re here. Who all do you wanna talk to?”

MJ looked at the ceiling, deep in thought. Her eyebrows always kind of scrunched together when she was thinking hard. “Maybe…Ms. Romanov to start with, then…who’s here? And wouldn’t mind? It’s weird asking to interview the Avengers.”

Peter laughed a little. “Don’t worry, they don’t bite. They’re super awesome.”

MJ still looked skeptical, but sighed. “Okay, well…Ms. Romanov for now.”

Peter gave her a thumbs up, then took the stairs down to the common floor to see who all was there. He walked in on Sam and Bucky locked in a fierce battle of Mario Kart. Natasha was making a smoothie, watching with cool interest, and Steve was doing a crossword puzzle in one of the recliners.

“Oh my God, Steve, you’re so old,” Peter said, putting his chin on Steve’s head to look past him at the puzzle.

Bucky snorted. “Hey, squirt.” Peter smiled in his direction, then went back to studying the checkered box.

“They’re challenging,” Steve defended, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Besides, it’s a mental workout.”

“Well, 22 Down is Kardashian. No amount of mental workouts is gonna help you with that one.”

Sam almost choked, he laughed so hard. Then he started yelling, because the interruption made him swerve into the sand dune, where Bowser proceeded to idle at a snail’s pace before coming back into contact with the cinematic asphalt.

A few seconds later, the trumpets of victory announced Bucky’s win as Yoshi skidded across the checkered line.

“Screw you, Barnes. Pipsqueak over there messed me up.”

“…Sam, I was a lap and a half ahead of you.”

“Semantics.”

Peter laughed, meandering to the kitchen, where Natasha was sipping her smoothie and watching with mirthful eyes. “Hi, Nat.”

“Hey, kiddo. How was school?”

“Good. Hey, do you remember my friend MJ from the Parent Teacher Day?”

Nat cocked her head, eyes thoughtful. “Mm-hm. Curly hair? Cute?” A teasing smile played on her lips.

Peter blushed furiously, going for a casual shrug that failed miserably. “Uh…yeah. Yeah, I mean, c-curly hair.”

Nat raised an eyebrow. “Mm-hm.”

“ _Anyways_ , she’s upstairs. She wanted to know if she could interview you for her sociology report, like you talked about at lunch.”

“Oh, sure.” Nat gathered up her smoothie and her bag of tortilla chips, heading for the stairs. “I’ll talk you up while I’m at it.”

“Oh my God, Nat, _don’t_.”

Nat snickered, and was gone.

Peter thunked his head on the counter and rued the day he _ever_ mentioned even the _thought_ of having a crush on MJ.

Which he totally didn’t. But. Not the point.

He sighed, and resigned himself to months of teasing.

…

Half an hour later, Peter meandered upstairs to see how things were going, after utterly destroying Bucky and Sam in Mario Kart, of course.

MJ and Nat were actually…seeming to have a really good time. Peter hadn’t seen Nat smile this much with a stranger (well, “stranger,” since they’d already met once) in a while, and it was nice.

“Okay, but how do you feel about being the only female superhero on the original team? Does that impact your style of leadership?”

Natasha cocked her head, smiling in Peter’s direction as he walked up. “Hey, Pete.”

“Hey,” he said, sending MJ a small smile as he passed them to the kitchen, waving a hand. “Don’t mind me, sorry. I’m actually curious.”

Nat smirked, refocusing on MJ. “I don’t know if it impacts my style of leadership so much as my role on the team in the eyes of the media and the public,” she continued, and Peter got out ingredients for milkshakes, keeping half an ear towards Natasha. He’d never really heard her talk about stuff like this, and it was interesting.

“It’s easy to be sexualized by the media as the only original female Avenger, and it’s especially easy to be relegated to the sidelines because not only am I female, I’m human,” Natasha considered, propping her chin on her hand, leaning her elbow against the counter. “The leather costume doesn’t help, either,” she added with a smirk, “but it’s the best thing for mobility, besides spandex.”

Nat shot him a look, and MJ laughed a little as Peter held up his hands. “It was all I had!”

Peter ignored the way his chest fluttered at MJ’s laugh.

“Mm-hm,” Natasha said, raising an eyebrow. “Anyways, I think the most important thing for young female leaders in today’s society to recognize is that no matter the obstacles against you, your self-worth means more than any price tag or fame they can attach to you. That’s what I like to remind myself of. I’m sexualized by the media? Well, unfortunately, so is every celebrity. I’m one of many. I’m considered weak, or inferior? They’ve obviously never met me. I’m confident in myself and my abilities as both an Avenger and a leader, when I need to be, so I don’t really care about nor pay attention to what the media or other leaders say about me. Does that make sense?”

Peter didn’t think he could love Nat anymore, but here he was.

MJ, similarly, was looking at Natasha like she might have hung the moon. “Uh—yeah, that’s _awesome_ , Ms. Romanov.”

“Call me Natasha,” Tasha said, waving a hand. “Peter, are you making enough milkshakes for three?”

Peter was startled by the abrupt address, glancing at Nat as MJ typed furiously. “Uh—no, sorry, I think we only have enough ice cream left for two. Maybe, like…three _really_ small ones.”

Natasha smirked, and Peter blinked.

Dammit. Of course, she already knew exactly how many milkshakes could be made with what they had left.

“Shame,” she said, hopping off the barstool. “I’ll get mine later, then. Why don’t you make one for you and MJ, and take a break?”

Peter could clearly see, though it was phrased as a question, it wasn’t a request.

“Okay,” he squeaked.

Nat flashed him a thumbs-up and disappeared into the elevator.

“Um…you, uh…like chocolate ice cream, don’t you?” Peter looked at MJ for confirmation.

MJ glanced up from where she was typing like the keyboard was on fire, seeming startled. “Huh? Oh, sure. I was going to start going vegan soon, since most dairy and meat processing facilities have no ethical standards to regulate animal cruelty or treatment, but I guess I can start later.”

Peter blinked, taking the long-winded explanation as a yes. “Okay.”

For the next few minutes, Peter was acutely aware of how _loud_ the blender was, as it was the only sound in the room. He added a couple toppings to his and MJ’s and mixed them up. He personally liked crumbled Oreo pieces and crushed peanut butter cups in his, and he knew MJ liked both of things too, so…yeah. He was pretty sure Oreos were vegan, anyways.

“Here you go,” he said, setting it beside her laptop with a spoon. He made them too thick for straws to work. “Do you want me to get Steve?”

MJ stopped, glancing at him. “Like…Captain America?”

Peter blinked. “Yeah…?”

“Oh. Um…wow. I was just going to, um…talk to Natasha and maybe the Falcon or someone. I thought Captain America would be too busy, like…doing a talk show about civic responsibility or meeting with the president about the defense system or, I don’t know…helping at a soup kitchen, or something.”

Peter blinked again, a couple times. “He’s doing a crossword puzzle.”

There were a couple seconds of surprised silence. You could’ve heard a cricket from a mile away.

“…um…okay. Sure.”

MJ, despite her perpetually cool exterior, took a couple minutes to get used to Steve, which Peter found a little cute. Wait. Um—not cute. Surprising. Pleasantly surprising, and nothing more. He remembered when he’d floundered around Steve, too, after the whole Loki thing.

Steve, though, was super nice as usual, and Peter could tell that MJ was quick to warm up to him. They talked for a little while. Steve gave a much more traditional definition of personal leadership, launching into a mini lecture on young leaders that could’ve come straight from one of his PSA scripts, and Peter had to try really hard not to laugh.

MJ didn’t seem to mind, though. She said it would be cool to have contrasting opinions from members of the same team.

A couple hours later, after Peter had meandered around doing menial things and hanging around MJ, it started getting dark. MJ finally closed her laptop, stretching her arms above her head. “That was really cool. Thanks, Peter.”

Peter started at being addressed. He’d almost lost himself in his own homework. “Oh, uh, of course! I’m glad it was good. Did you get everything you needed?”

“Oh, for sure,” MJ confirmed, packing her bag. “And the Avengers were pretty cool. Especially Natasha.”

Peter smiled. That sounded about right. “I’m glad. They’re awesome.”

“Yeah. Natasha said she’d teach me some self-defense stuff, next time.”

Peter blinked, his brain frantically recalibrating, and stammered, “N…next? Uh, time?”

MJ glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, next time. This is paper one of three.”

Peter’s racing heart shuddered to a sad little stop. “Oh.”

“And to hang out, loser. Duh.”

Peter blinked, glancing up, surprised. “O-oh. Um. Yeah, that would be really cool.”

MJ nodded, seeming uncharacteristically lost for words, and fidgeted with the straps of her bookbag. “So…you gonna walk me down?”

“Oh, uh, for sure!” Peter said, springing into action. It was a wonder he didn’t launch himself to the ceiling in his haste. “Yeah. I can ask Happy to drive you.”

“No, that’s okay—”

“It’s really fine. I don’t really want you walking home by yourself this late,” he said without thinking. Once he realized what he’d said, he felt himself blush furiously, stammering, “U-um…I just—I-I just mean, as—as Spiderman, you know, a lot of—mugged—um—”

“Dude, I get it,” MJ said, patting his shoulder, rescuing him. His shoulder buzzed, and he shifted, still blushing. “If he’s available, sure, just to make sure you don’t stroke out on me.”

Peter gave her a nervous laugh, feeling so embarrassed it was a wonder he didn’t melt right there.

Happy was, in fact, available, and drove MJ home without incident. Later that night, he ate dinner with his dad on their floor.

“So how was your date?”

Peter choked, inhaling an entire mouthful of spaghetti. He coughed, and hacked, and had to drink two glasses of water provided by his smugly smiling dad until he could speak like a rational human being.

“Um…huh…? Wh-what?”

Well, almost like a rational human being.

“Nat said you had MK over,” his dad said, sitting there with a knowing smile and eating his spaghetti without a care in the world, like Peter hadn’t almost asphyxiated at his words.

“It’s MJ,” he corrected automatically. “And—yeah. Because she needed help with a paper. From the Avengers. So…totally _not_ a date. Not even close.”

“Mm-hm,” his dad said, raising an eyebrow. “When should we start booking wedding venues? There’s this awesome little garden in Venice—”

“Dad, _stop_ ,” Peter pleaded even over his dad’s laughter. “No. Stop it. We’re not talking about this.”

“So are you going to name your first born after your old man?”

“ _DAD._ ”

His dad snickered unapologetically.

Peter let his head thunk on the table as he had earlier last night.

Note to self—never, _ever_ tell his dad or the Avengers about _any_ of his future crushes.

Though…with how he felt about MJ…he wasn’t sure there would _be_ any future crushes besides her.

Ah, man. He was head over heels. Too bad nothing would ever happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:…or will it?” ;)
> 
> Hey! Long time no see! Hope you liked this cute little thing, featuring human MJ and adorably awkward Peter.
> 
> As always, thank you so so so much for your continued support and love! Especially to my AMAZING commenters!
> 
> Also as always, feel free to drop a request, but I’d love it if you’d comment! Thanks so much! :D


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